The Prince Groom
by Wafflansypus
Summary: Title sucks and so does this summary. Not enough words...Harry/Draco version of The Princess Bride with variations of course. Full summary and warnings inside.
1. Prologue

**Full Summary: Harry/Draco version of The Princess Bride with several variations. (Sry about the title, couldn't think of anything else) This means that I will add subplots and deviations from character roles but stick to the overall plot of TPB. (For example, there will be an Inigo Montoya-like character, but he won't necessarily have the same back-story as he did in the book.) I am also including some plot from the HP books, but not a lot, so don't expect much. It's a non-magical AU and I apologize in advance for the OOC-ness.**

**Warnings: There will be some boyxboy action, but not extremely detailed and I will post a warning at the beginning of each chapter containing such things. There will be swearing, and eventual character-death, though no one major. **

**Disclaimer: The characters are not mine. The overall plot is not mine. (Though anything you don't recognize from the book probably is.) This leaves me with nothing. Happy? Now there would be no point in suing me, even if you had cause to! *****sticks out tongue*******

**So, now that that crap is out of the way, ONWARD!**

* * *

In the land of Linai, bordered only by the country of Rodsew, there lived an extremely wealthy family of three; a father, a mother, and a son. All were similar in personality—cold and cynical—and all treated their single slave terribly.

Not because he was incompetent or lazy, he was just the opposite; they just couldn't comprehend the idea of being civil to someone with less money and influence than they.

The boy was especially terrible to the slave. He constantly mocked the slave, making his life more difficult and miserable at every turn.

The servant, however, just accepted it all with a Zen smile worthy of the Buddha himself (1) and did whatever the boy demanded.

This only served to enrage the boy further, and as the years passed his insults and interferences grew worse.

The servant remained ever unaffected, Zen smile always in place, hiding a much deeper, painful, wilder emotion.

This is their story.

* * *

**(1) For those who were scratching their heads at that line, Zen is actually a form of Buddhism, so the comparison does apply. (the only reason I included this was because after I wrote it I wasn't sure if it was correct so I looked it up on Wikipedia, just in case you were wondering)**

**So, that was the Prologue. Sorry it was so short but the chapter one is ready and waiting! What did you think? Reviews are awesome and I always try to reward! Is this idea crap? Is it cool? Tell me what you think! And just so you know, I'm not posting next chappie until I get more than two reviews! ;P**

**Side Note: This story will probably be a bit more serious than TPB, but still have its funny moments. It's like what would happen if a soap opera and a sitcom had a kid: really dramatic and serious but with random laugh-track moments that don't always make sense. **


	2. The Beginning

**Warning: slight boyxboy action; no like, no read**

**Disclaimer: Honestly, if they were mine, Ginny would've ended up with Neville, Harry with Draco, and Voldemort would've died an ironic yet fitting death that would've been exceedingly amusing to read. So I think you know who they belong to. Oh, and the plot would've been much more erratic and crazy in TPB. Just thought you should know.**

**Author's Note: Okay, I forgot to mention this before, but Linnai and Rodsew are somewhere in Europe (and they are from my fun but frightening imagination), and the times are all weird. There's technology, but a monarchy like the Middle Ages. It's weird, I know, but please just go with it.**

* * *

Draco glared at the floor over his crossed arms, slouching in his chair. His parents, were they to see right then, would've been appalled at his abysmal posture, but he didn't care.

His attention was, at the moment, completely focused on one infuriating slave, as it had been more and more frequently ever since his twentieth birthday a week and a half ago.

_Stupid Potter,_ he thought angrily, _After all that smiling, making like he cares, he could at least compliment my new haircut!_

Unconsciously, his lip stuck out in a pout, sending him into full sulk-mode. He sat like that for a few moments, but the sound of hurried footsteps outside the room jerked him from his thoughts and into a more proper position in the armchair he was occupying.

The door opened and Draco watched silently as his mother entered the room. Narcissa and Draco had similar facial features—sharp, angular cheekbones, straight-lined, aristocratic nose—and the same hair color—platinum blonde and completely natural—and they even wore similar haughty expressions.

The rest of Draco's face, however, belonged to his father—the cunning, silver-grey eyes, thin-lipped mouth and stubborn chin—who swept in after his mother.

All-in-all, Draco was an extremely handsome man and _very_ aware of that fact; using it to his advantage every chance he got.

"Mother, Father," Draco drawled, eyes sparking with speculation, "Is there something wrong?"

"Yes, Draco, there is," replied Lucius, advancing into the room, "That imbecile has been gallivanting about with Mudbloods again. I feel that my punishments are not getting through. Since he seems to have taken a liking to you, your mother and I feel that a punishment dealt out by you would prove more…effective."

This was delivered with a cold, cruel smile that made Draco recall what some of those punishments were, and how they had felt when used on him. Repressing a shiver, he smirked up at his father, "Of course. Would you like me to go now?"

Lucius' eyes glittered in cruel satisfaction; he'd been worried that his son would refuse. "Yes, best to strike while the iron is hot, as they say."

Draco gave a quick, cold smile and nodded to his parents as he briskly left the room.

Lucius and Narcissa watched their son exit with cold little smiles upon their lips, apparently pleased with something.

"Lucius, it seems our son has come along quite nicely," commented Narcissa, listening to her son's brisk steps down the hallway.

"Yes, he is ready now, I believe," Lucius agreed, the barest hint of anticipation in his otherwise cold voice, "I shall notify the Dark Lord immediately."

Narcissa nodded thoughtfully, "The time is soon upon us. Draco, however, may yet need a bit more work."

"He is ready," hissed Lucius, "Unless he wishes to fell the wrath of the Inner Circle."

They fell silent, both looking unflinchingly ahead at the cruel, harsh fate they had laid out for their son, both pleased with what they saw there.

* * *

Draco strode briskly down the corridor, his footsteps the only sound to be heard in the otherwise silent hallway. His long legs ate up the distance to the dungeons, where the disobedient Potter was being held.

_Stupid Potter,_ Draco thought once again, this time rather smugly, _Always consorting with the beggars in public when he knows my father hates it. He deserves everything that is coming to him._

Pausing to the great iron door to the dungeons, Draco took a moment to brush imaginary lint from his clothes and make sure his hair was still perfect. It was, so he opened the door and swept inside, striding purposefully to Potter's usual cell.

Draco opened the cell door and paused, smirking at the sight that met his eyes.

Potter was chained to the wall with wrist and ankle manacles, sitting against the wall but slumped over as if in defeat, his dark, unruly hair shielding his eyes.

At the sound of the door opening he looked up, revealing vibrant, emerald green eyes set in a handsome, darkly tanned face. His eyes lit with a smile when he saw his visitor and he stood, unfolding his lean muscular 6'2" frame.

This action rather irritated Draco, who was only six even and felt the two inches very keenly.

"Why, Master Draco, what brings you to this deep, dark corner of the otherwise beautiful Malfoy Manor?" asked Harry with his customary Zen smile.

"Why do you think I'm here, Potter?" sneered Draco, "I hear you have been seen with those commoners again."

Harry's smile refused to waver as he replied, "Master Draco, they aren't commoners. They are my friends. And really, if you think about it, they are lowering themselves by allowing themselves to be seen with me; not the other way around. I am, after all, a slave."

"Yes, but not just any slave; one of the illustrious Malfoy household, and, as such, you are not to be seen in public with commoners," Draco replied, speaking as if to a child, "Especially the Weasel, a disgrace to everything my family stands for."

"But, Master Draco, his family has just as perfect a bloodline as yours," Harry pointed out calmly.

"Exactly," snapped Draco, "That just makes the fact that his family has lost all their wealth and credibility all the worse."

There were some nasty comments Harry could've made on the Malfoys' own credibility—or lack thereof—but he was too nice to do so. At least, not to Draco.

Instead, he gave a small, reminiscing smile, "Ah, Master Draco, there was once a time when you would rather have drank poison then say something so like your father."

_Who says I don't still feel that way?_ thought Draco, _I just got better at concealing it. After all, I'm in no position to break away from my parents at this point in time._

Outwardly, Draco narrowed his eyes threateningly and strode closer, hoping to intimidate Harry with his presence, "That time is over now, as you very well know. You will _never_ speak of it to me again."

Harry's expression was sad, "I had always hoped you would be different than your parents. And for a while, you were. Then Lucius stepped in and ruined you."

Draco's eyes were a molten grey, alive with actual anger; he hated when people criticized or made assumptions about him. He leaned closer to Harry, so their noses were inches away.

"No one 'ruined' me, I'm perfect the way I am," he hissed, "And if you say something like that again, I will have you killed."

Harry was saddened beyond words by this, for more reasons than he would ever admit out loud, but instead of saying anything, he leaned forward and impulsively pressed his lips to Draco's, stunning him.

Draco was at first flabbergasted by Harry's action, and was about to push him away, when the sensation of Harry's lips moving against his own completely took over. He kissed Harry back, leaning into the kiss to wrap his arms around the taller boy's neck.

Harry was surprised by Draco's reaction, but pleased. He opened his mouth and ran his tongue along Draco's lips, demanding entry.

Draco eagerly complied and gasped with pleasure as their tongues met and dueled in his mouth. His fingers sank deep into Harry's thick hair as he matched him stroke for stroke, completely lost in the kiss.

Harry, forgetting his surroundings, attempted to bring his hands forward to stroke Draco's body, but the chains halted their progress with a resounding clank! that brought Draco back to his senses and away from Harry.

The two stared at each other, panting slightly, and struggled to regain their composure. Draco was, unsurprisingly, first.

A cool, calm expression masked the inner turmoil he was feeling within seconds, a tribute to his parents' meticulous training on the proper behavior of one of pure Linivian blood. He did not want Harry to see his surprise at the way he had acted, or the sense of loss he had experienced when their mouths had parted.

Draco was so confused by the emotions within him—remembered pleasure at the lingering tingle in his lips, shock that he had reacted in such a way to _Potter_ of all people (he had already come to terms with the fact that he was bi), confusion as to why he would react at all when he'd felt no previous inkling of attraction—that he abruptly turned and strode from the cell, not bother ring the close the door, and continued up to his bedroom without another word.

Harry, for his part, was stunned by Draco's reaction. Never in his wildest dreams had he thought Draco would react like that.

He smiled, maybe there was hope for him yet.

* * *

**So, that was the actual first chapter. In case you haven't noticed, I'm planning on making the beginning of the story longer than it was in TPB, to add more depth to it. Hope you liked, and I'm serious about that review thing. (If you have no idea what I'm talking about, refer to the end of the Prologue.) Anyway, Happy Holidays everyone!**

**Oh, and in case you're wondering, Harry is supposed to be "dominant" in this fic because it would be weird if the Buttercup character was dominant, and you gotta admit, Draco wouldn't make a very good Wesley.**


	3. The Middle

**Hello all! I am happy to say that I got three reviews on the last chapter, so the story SHALL continue! This chapter will be a bit longer than the last, I'm happy to say, and the chapters will more than likely get longer as we go. **

**Warnings: boyxboy sex, though I suck at writing lemons, so it won't be especially descriptive**

**Disclaimer: This will be the last one I include, so this will encompass the rest of the story. I do not own the characters of the story (though the deviations from their original personality belong to me :D). Nor to I own the original plotline (but again, I own the deviations, yay me!).**

* * *

Draco was sitting at his desk, mentally attempting to dissect and analyze the scene in the dungeons, when there was a sharp rap at the door.

Draco sat up and schooled his turbulent expression to its usual calm, calling, "Come in."

The door opened and his mother entered, asking, "Did you punish the servant?"

Draco was momentarily startled—though you couldn't tell from his expression. _What punishment?_ he thought in confusion, then finally remembered, _Uh, oops._

"Yes, I did," he lied smoothly, "Quite thoroughly. He does not seem to be getting the message so I thought a little extra this time would not be amiss."

Narcissa's eyes narrowed suspiciously, she hadn't missed that brief pause, though she had no idea what it meant, but reframed from commenting on it, instead replying, "Good. That boy needs to learn not to cross us. He pushes our generosity too far. If that is all, then, I shall be in the library if you need me. Please go and release Potter so he can begin making dinner."

Draco nodded and Narcissa turned and left, leaving her son at the mercy of his chaotic thoughts.

Briefly, Draco debated whether to go and release Harry then or wait until later, quickly deciding to wait leave it until he'd gotten his thoughts in order.

He dissected and cross-analyzed every word and action during his conversation with Harry, taking around an hour, and finally came to the conclusion that it had all been a fluke.

After all, why would he ever be attracted to a lowly servant like the idiotic Potter? It simply wasn't possible!

Satisfied with the conclusion, he made his way back down to the dungeons, where Harry had been drawing his own not-so-logical conclusions.

* * *

When Draco reached Harry's cell, he was unsurprised to be greeted by a Zen smile. Though, unlike usual, the smile didn't quite reach Harry's eyes, which were burning with something quite unlike Zen calm.

Not that Draco noticed any of this. He was too busy trying to ignore the longing to have Harry's tongue in his mouth again. Or maybe, trailing kisses down his neck and chest to his nipples. Or even farther down to…he stopped his thoughts right there, not liking where they were going one bit.

_No need to be having dirty thoughts about the help when there are tons of people just begging to fall into bed with you, _he reminded himself, _Maybe tonight I'll go out and find a man; it's been awhile, so that's probably why I'm feeling this towards the idiot Potter. Yes, that should help._

Satisfied with this solution, he refocused his attention on Harry, who was still in Zen-master mode.

"I have come to release you to make dinner," Draco announced haughtily, advancing into the cell to unlock Harry's wrist and ankle manacles.

"Okay," Harry replied, "Anything else, Master Draco?"

Draco stepped back quickly and Harry stood, gingerly rubbing his raw wrists.

Draco gave a curt shake of his head, "No."

_You should be leaving now,_ the still-functioning part of his brain told him, but the part that controlled his motor skills had long since shut down. He was overwhelmed by the sheer nearness of Harry, his hands itching to reach out and touch the bit of flat stomach showing through the rip in the ratty shirt he was wearing.

Draco stared, transfixed, until Harry asked, with a bit of amusement in his voice as if he knew exactly what Draco was doing, "Master Draco, are you alright?"

Draco snapped out of his haze of sensual daydreams and quickly turned and made for the door, anxious to put as much distance between himself and Harry as possible.

"Yes," he bit out, "And if I were you, I would get started on dinner soon."

"Yes, Master Draco," replied Harry, giving a brief bow.

Draco ignored him and continued out of the dungeons. All he wanted was to get back to his room where he could brood about his puzzling reactions to Harry in peace.

* * *

Harry was also brooding over Draco's reactions to him, but for completely different reasons.

He had been working for the Malfoys ever since they had bought him at the tender age of ten.

His aunt and uncle had sold him off to pay off their debts, and the Malfoys had been the ones to buy him. He had already had all the skills necessary to successfully run the household with no help from them, so it had been perfect, for they only wanted one slave at a time.

The first day in the house, Lucius had introduced him to Draco—who'd been a much snottier version of ten than Harry—and instantly he'd fallen in love.

Harry knew it was stupid, futile, and completely pointless—he'd told himself so many times over the years—but he just couldn't bring himself to hate the youngest Malfoy, no matter how terribly he treated him.

Harry couldn't help but love his arrogance, and his haughty grace, and his habit of dominating every room he entered. Harry knew full-well that Draco was rather naïve about some things—especially where his parents were concerned—but only found this to be part of his charm.

Harry had been serving Draco faithfully all these years—choking back his volatile temper many-a-time—in hopes of inspiring at least a little affection in him.

The kiss Harry had initiated in the dungeon on pure impulse—a result of lusting after Draco all these years with no fulfillment and suddenly being in such close proximity to him—and he had been elated when Draco had responded so enthusiastically.

_He can't possibly feel the way I do,_ Harry thought, idly stirring the soup that was to be the appetizer at dinner that night, _But after his reaction to me in the dungeon today, he will probably want at least a sexual relationship with me. That would be better than nothing, though it more than likely won't last long._ Harry gave a bitter smile;_ Still, I would rather have at least a little bit of him than nothing at all. As Shakespeare said, 'It is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.'_

Of course, Harry purposefully ignored the feeling of absolute desolation that would completely consume him when Draco, inevitably, broke it off, (not to mention the excruciating pain he would feel every time he looked at Draco, only to be ignored or sneered at as if he were the scum of the earth) but he couldn't afford to acknowledge it.

He wanted a relationship with Draco so bad, and had for so long, that he was willing to risk his future mental health.

Such is the power of love.

* * *

Or the refusal to love, at least on Draco's part.

While Harry was busy in the kitchen, Draco was busy in his room, primping for a night out.

He had decided that his earlier solution for his unwanted attraction to Harry had been the correct one; going out and finding someone to work the sexual tension out with—preferably a man—was what he would do.

His parents wouldn't care that he went out, and would've even been surprised that had he stayed in that night.

Draco had dressed to kill in low-slung jeans and a charcoal button-up shirt that only had the middle button fastened, revealing a pale, flat stomach. He had tennis shoes on his feet and a jacket that was present only to create a bigger impact when it was removed.

He had purposefully accentuated his slim, almost girlish figure, in hopes of better attracting a man. Not that this meant he would be willing to bottom, he just thought it would make it easier.

When he arrived at the club, an exclusive place that was _very_ selective about who they let in, he discarded his coat and went to join the throng on the dance floor.

He danced like he usually did, very provocatively so he soon had people practically drooling on him, and he soon attracted a thin, dark man with an air of danger about him.

They didn't dance for very long after that, they were too aroused by each other, so they made their way to a hotel room the guy was staying in.

Apparently he was on vacation from the capital, Guilder (1), and had gone out that night looking for some fun.

He'd found it, alright.

Unfortunately, to Draco's irritation and the guy's disgust, Draco found himself aroused by the man, because he rather reminded him of Harry, but found that having sex with the man did nothing to ease this arousal.

He found himself subconsciously comparing Harry and the man many times, until, after the man had been well sated as an apology, Draco left, frustrated and humiliated. He quickly banished thoughts of trying again that night—it was nearly one in the morning—instead resolving to try again the next, at a different club.

The next day Draco spent his time avoiding Harry at all costs—not really a hard thing to do—and when night finally rolled around, was sure that he would get to exercise out the building sexual tension within him.

To his consternation, that night went much the same as the last, only with a girl this time, and Draco was again left with a bruised ego and a hard-on. He resolved to try again the next night, but that too was unsuccessful.

Draco's nights out continued in much the same way for about two weeks, gradually worsening until his partners couldn't get any sort of response out of him, unless he was thinking about a certain green-eyed servant.

He, however, refused to have sex with someone while thinking of someone else. It struck him as being just plain _wrong_ that his full attention was not focused on his actual partner but instead on someone he'd kissed _once._

One night, about two weeks after Harry and Draco's kiss, after another unsuccessful night out at the clubs, Draco slammed into his room, uncaring whether or not his parents heard him, and flopped angrily on his bed.

He lay there brooding darkly about his lack of a response to a particularly handsome man earlier that night when a soft tap came at the door.

"What?" he snapped irritably, thinking it was one of his parents.

The door opened and, to his surprise, Harry stepped through, giving him a lovely Zen smile. "Ah, Master Draco, I noticed that you have not been eating very well lately so I decided to bring you up some beef and vegetable soup. I hope that was alright."

Harry's slightly raspy voice affected Draco like a sensual caress, sending shivers of sensation over his body and straight to his groin.

"Master Draco?" asked Harry with a frown, stepping closer. He'd seen the shivers rack Draco's body and was concerned that the other might be catching a cold or something. "Are you alright?"

"Y-yes," Draco gasped out around the new sensations plaguing him, "Just _please_ stop talking."

Harry obediently fell silent while Draco tried to gather his thoughts. Suddenly, watching Harry shift nervously from foot to foot, everything fell into place.

"That's it!" Draco gasped, staggering to his feet. He realized that the reason he had not been able to react properly o anyone he'd picked up at the clubs was that his overwhelming desire for Harry had been screwing (pardon the pun) with his libido.

_So,_ he concluded, striding purposefully over to a startled Harry, _Once I've had my fill of him in my bed, I'll be fine!_

Gently, Draco removed the tray with the seaming soup on it from Harry's hands and set it on a nearby table.

Then, slowly, he reached up and pulled Harry's mouth down to his for a slow, sensual kiss.

At first, Harry was frozen in shock—he'd expected at least another week before Draco got it through his thick skull that it was Harry he wanted and not someone else—then he came alive, arms snaking around Draco's waist to meld them together from thigh to chest.

The ferocity with which Harry returned his kiss made Draco gasp in surprise, which Harry took as an invitation into his mouth.

Lifting him off his feet, giving him better access to the side of his neck and ear, Harry carried Draco to the huge bed dominating the room and they fell together in a tangle of arms and limbs, hungrily devouring each other.

At first, Draco tried to fight for dominance with every searing kiss in every mind-blowing place, but gradually, he let Harry have control, content to sit back let Harry melt his mind into a great big puddle of goo.

He, however, had never bottomed before, so, when Harry, having already gotten rid of all that pesky clothing, got ready to enter him, he panicked.

"Wait!" he cried, though the need to have Harry inside of him, possessing him completely, was on the verge of robbing him of all conscious thought.

Harry paused, seeing the distress on Draco's face.

"What is it, love?" he purred throatily, sending shivers down Draco's spine, reminding him of something more…interesting that mouth could be doing. Something having to do with Harry's tongue wrapping around and sucking Draco's…Draco gasped as Harry bent to nibble the side of his neck, a definite sweet spot.

"Uh, well, it's just that I've never bottomed before," Draco choked out, biting back another gasp as Harry began to trail fiery kisses down his chest.

Harry looked up at Draco, a hint of devilment in his eyes, "Oh, is that all? And here I thought it was something serious. Good thing I'm prepared."

Leaning off the bed, Harry snatched up his ragged jeans and dug in the pockets, pulling out a bottle of lube he'd purchased the day before.

When he'd bought it, it had been an impulse buy, he wasn't even sure he'd get to use it it on the person he really wanted to, but now he was glad he did.

Draco's eyes widened when he saw the bottle; he hadn't thought Harry would be the kind of guy that would carry something like that around with him, but, hey, to each his own.

Which gave birth to a new, more startling question: how much sexual experience did Harry actually have?

Judging on the way he had conducted himself so far, Draco assumed that it had to be almost as much as he had, which is to say, a lot. For some reason, Draco found this conclusion rather disturbing, but he was quickly distracted from it by the sensation of Harry slowing sliding into him.

Draco gasped in pain, and then pleasure and Harry was blown away by the feeling of being inside of Draco, possessing him completely.

He figured that Draco would never belong to him in the way that he wanted, but at least for this moment in time, Draco belonged completely to him and _only_ to him. Even if Draco completely shattered his heart he would always cherish these moments.

It wasn't long after that that Draco was screaming out his climax, calling Harry's name over and over as Harry hit his sweet spot with each powerful thrust.

Harry's own climax came hard on the heels of Draco's, and he came with a hoarse shout, calling Draco's name, collapsing wearily on top of Draco, who was equally tired.

Tiredly, he reached out and grabbed a stray napkin from Draco's long-forgotten dinner tray, using it to wipe up the seed—Draco's—that was covering both of their chests.

That done, he discarded the napkin and snuggled with the half-asleep Draco under the covers, un-caring of all the chores, duties, and sure separation from is love awaiting him in the morning.

He was with his love right then, and they'd just finished having the most mind-blowing sex of his life (that's right, he was _very_ experienced, but only through imaging his lover as Draco—he hadn't the qualms about that kind of thing Draco did). He couldn't care less about anything, or anyone else.

With a satisfied sigh, he buried his face in the sleeping Draco's hair and promptly fell asleep.

Both completely unaware of the events they had just set in motion…

* * *

(1) Just paying a tribute to the master-William Goldman (or S. Morgenstern, at least according to Mr. Goldman)

**Well then, another chapter, finished! I apologize for the vagueness of that little Lemon scene at the end, but I can't write Lemons for the life of me. Maybe I'll work on it and put in another, better one, later. **

**Remember, same rules apply to this chapter as the last two, I want reviews! PLEASE! *cries***

**Anyway, random trivia question, if you fell like trying to guess, even though there wasn't much description:**

_**Who was the guy that Draco hooked up with that first night at that club? **_

**Remember, thin, dark one with the air of danger? He is frequently paired with Neville Longbottom (who will be in this fic, feel free to guess who he'll be playing!) or Draco. I'll reveal the answer next chapter but feel free to guess if you like. Oh, and who do you guys think would make the best Inigo Montoya and Vizzini?**

**I already have the people picked out, even written up to that part, but I'm curious to know what you guys think.**

**Something to think about while you wait for the next chapter.**

**Ciao,**

**Waffles**


	4. The End

**Hola, everyone, hooray for the fourth chapter! So the first guy Draco picked up that night was Blaise Zabini. I know it was rather obscure and hard to guess, but I figured it'd be interesting to see who could guess it. (No one did.)**

**I'm still waiting for your opinions on who should play Inigo and Vizzini! I really am curious so please, humor me.**

**Thank you to those who have me on Story Alert, it always makes me happy to see people waiting for more. **

**I'll chatter pointlessly more at the end of the chapter so: ONWARD!**

* * *

And so the epic love affair between Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy began.

It was originally only going to last about a week, at least by Draco's estimations, but instead lasted around six months.

For, to his surprise, Draco found that the more he had of Harry, the more he wanted. He knew very well that what he was doing would earn him severe punishment from his parents, but he just didn't care.

Draco found himself completely entranced by hidden aspects of Harry that he hadn't even suspected existed. He was amazed at his stubbornness and courage, startled by his surprisingly frequent bouts of temper, and totally mystified by his compassion and need to help people.

Draco had been bred to be selfish, to think of himself first, and only do things for others if it somehow benefited him or his family, so Harry's selflessness was a relatively new concept.

Draco found it very endearing. In fact, he found just pretty much everything about Harry endearing.

Also, to both his and Harry's (though he didn't dare show it) surprise, as time went by, Draco discovered that just having sex with Harry wasn't enough. It wasn't long before he was just itching to spend time with Harry, talking, working in the garden, whatever, as long as they were together.

Of course, they couldn't spend more time than absolutely necessary together, for fear of making the elder Malfoys suspicious.

Despite their best efforts, however, Narcissa and Lucius were very aware of the son's shameful involvement with their only slave, and found it to be deeply concerning. At first, they decided to let it just play out, figuring it would soon end on its own. But when days turned to weeks, and weeks into months, they became very worried.

"Narcissa, we cannot allow this to continue," raged Lucius, pacing up and down his study while Narcissa sat calmly in one of the many stiff-backed chairs, "We must dispose of the boy immediately."

"Yes, and soon. The Dark Lord will not stand for much more of this nonsense," replied Narcissa, "He was counting on Draco being untouched when he received him, and he told me that if Draco is allowed to be sullied any further than he will not accept him, and that cannot happen."

"Quite so. In the morning, we shall take him and give him to Macnair to play with," Lucius stopped pacing and smiled coldly at Narcissa, "Surely Macnair would appreciate that."

Narcissa gave an answering smile, "Yes, I believe he would. As I recall, he recently purchased some new items for his collection of torture devices and was still searching for someone to try them out on."

The two shared cold chuckles—that would have been filled with malicious glee, had they not been Malfoys—satisfied with the solution they had decided upon.

Draco however, who'd been shamelessly listening at the door throughout most of the conversation, did not share his parents' delight. Horrified at their plans, he hurried off to find Harry.

He checked the kitchen, laundry room and garden, Harry's most popular haunts, but had no luck. He scoured the rest of the house but Harry was nowhere to be found.

Panic rising, he rechecked the entire house and its extensive grounds, but Harry still wasn't there.

Draco was frantic now, despite telling himself over and over that his parents were planning on taking him the next day, and he realized with a start that if something were to happen to Harry he'd be devastated.

In fact, Draco became depressed and wanted to just go and bawl in a corner somewhere--something a Malfoy was _never_ supposed to even _think_ about doing--just thinking about something happening to Harry.

Draco realized suddenly that he loved Harry!

He leaned against the wall in the hallway in shock. He had never felt anything like this for anyone before, and the experience was mind-blowing.

Even with his parents, Draco had only felt the barest hint of affection, their treatment of him being too cold and distant to have sustained any love that he had felt for them when he was young.

The many lovers he had had through the years had meant little to nothing to him, because they were just an outlet for his sexual needs and curiosity. Harry was the first person to actually touch Draco's heart in a very long time.

Recovering himself, Draco resumed his course for the kitchen, but he was now more calm and collected than before, as if the new knowledge of himself somehow calmed him down.

_Draco,_ he said to himself, slowly making his way to the kitchen, _Calm down. Your parents said that they were going to kidnap Harry tomorrow, not that they had already taken him. He's probably out shopping or something. You need to find him and come up with a plan to get out of here, and you've got a good twelve hours to do it in. Just sit in the kitchen and wait for Harry to come back. _

So Draco perched on one of the stools in the shining, stainless-steel kitchen and began to wait.

And wait.

And wait some more.

Finally, after an hour and a half of waiting, Draco's impatience overcame him--which was a new record--and he jumped to his feet and rushed to the door, wrenching it open, only to find a startled Harry gaping at him on the other side of it.

They stood, staring at each other for a moment, both startled at the appearance of the other, when Draco suddenly reached out and crushed Harry to his chest, relief washing over him like a tidal wave. He felt his knees weaken, forcing him to lean heavily into Harry from the sheer force of the emotion.

"Dr-draco?" stammered Harry, very startled and struggling to breathe; Draco's hold on him was surprisingly tight, "What's wrong?"

Draco pulled back from Harry, suddenly aware of their potentially treacherous position in the hallway like that and pulled Harry back into the kitchen with him, locking the door after them.

After shoving the rather abused-feeling Harry onto a stool so he could feel slightly better at being taller for once, Draco glared down at him and demanded, "Where have you been?"

"I was visiting the Weasleys (1)," answered Harry, bewildered at Draco's attitude, "But what's wrong? Why are you so worked up?"

"My parents!" Draco yelled, "My stupid parents were talking in my father's study and I decided to listen-in and they were talking about _us_! About our relationship, and then something about this 'Dark Lord' person, and how he wanted _me_ so they had to get rid of _you_ and then about how they could give _you_ to some 'Macnair' person so he could _torture_ you because he needed someone to try his _toys _out on! Harry, it was terrible!"

Draco words came out all in rush so that Harry could barely understand him, though he did get the general idea of it.

Harry stood and placed his hands on his lover's shoulders, steering him towards the stool he had vacated and forcing him to sit.

"Okay, calm down, Draco," he said, still gripping his arms and staring into his wild grey eyes, "You said your parents know about us, correct?"

Dumbly, Draco nodded.

"And you also said that they were planning on getting rid of me, so they could give you to some weird guy, right?"

Again, Draco nodded silently, a little calmer now.

Harry sighed heavily, "Okay. Now let's sit down and try to figure this out. When did you hear this conversation?"

"Maybe three hours ago," Draco replied promptly, "But my parents said they weren't going to take you until tomorrow morning."

"Good, good, that gives us some time," murmured Harry, "And all they want is me gone, so I won't interfere with their plans for you. Well, that makes the answer rather obvious."

"'Obvious'? What's 'obvious' about it? I'm not seeing this answer!" yelled Draco, hopping off the stool, "I think we should leave! Get out of here while we still can!"

Harry gave a small smile, and placed calming hands on Draco's shoulders, "Ah, but you must remember, love, what kind of people your parents are. Were we to flee, they'd hunt us both to the ends of the Earth, so irritated would they be that their most important pawn had gotten away. No, love, something else must be done."

"Well then what do you suggest?" snapped Draco, irritated because he knew instinctively that he wasn't going to like Harry's plan.

Harry gave a small, sad smile, "You're not gonna like it."

"Try me!" Draco bit out, the feeling that something bad was coming intensifying.

"Well," Harry began slowly, "I think I should leave and establish a life for myself in the Americas. Then, when I have enough money, I'll come for you and we'll disappear together. I know enough that I could make a living just about anywhere, and it wouldn't take long to save up enough to go lose ourselves I some jungle or other. Maybe a year or two."

"A year or two?" Draco shrieked, "In a year or two, these nut jobs could sell me off as a sex-slave to a middle-eastern oil sheikh and you'd never even hear about it! I'm coming with you!"

Harry sighed, seeing he was going to get nowhere with Draco, "Alright, but you know it will be a hard life, always on the run."

Draco's face softened, and it was his turn to place comforting hands on his lover's shoulders, "That's okay, Harry, you should know that by now. After all, I do love you."

Harry stunned beyond words, Draco had never said anything like that before. It had always been Harry who said the "I love you" when he thought Draco wasn't listening and he who used the pet names.

This new admission made what he was planning on doing so much more difficult.

They spent a couple hours in the kitchen, making plans to leave early the next morning, taking only a few changes of clothes and all of Harry's and Draco's savings. They decided that Harry would spend the night in Draco's room, like usual, and he would wake Draco at the appointed time.

They parted and got ready for their escape, packing up their stuff.

* * *

That night, after Narcissa and Lucius were asleep, Harry snuck into Draco's room, like usual. Also like usual, they had mind-blowing sex.

But Draco noticed something different about it that night. It seemed that Harry was more demanding than he usually was, and there was a sense of desperation with his every kiss.

It gave Draco a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach and when he fell asleep in Harry's arms later that night, he could've sworn he heard a whispered, "Goodbye, my love."

The next morning, his trepidation proved to be justified when he woke and Harry was nowhere to be found.

At first he panicked, thinking Harry had been taken by his parents before he'd woken up to escape with Draco, then he found the note on his nightstand from Harry.

It read:

Draco,

I'm sorry I left you when I said I wouldn't, but I just don't want to expose you to this kind of harsh life. I promise I'll return, no matter what. Wait for me.

Yours,

Harry

Draco, of course, was absolutely furious.

"How dare he abandon me!" he raged, crumpling up the note, "How dare he presume to decided what is and isn't good for me! I'm not a little child that needs looking after!"

Gradually, over a few days, he began to calm down, and his anger cooled into sadness at having been left behind.

"I can't believe he left me!" he cried, clutching the note to his chest, "He better come back."

So Draco went on with his life, the sadness gradually changing into hope at the new life that Harry was surely building for them.

And then, the unthinkable happened.

* * *

One day, about two months after Harry's disappearance, Draco was brooding in his room, flipping through stations on his TV, when one channel caught his eye.

An Asian woman was reporting from a news chopper circling out over the remains of a cruise ship in the Caribbean that had apparently been ransacked and destroyed by the pirate crew of the terrible Voldemort.

Draco snorted derisively at the obvious alias, _pirates, in this day and age? With stupid names like that? Ridiculous._

He was just about to change the channel when the list of crewmen and passengers--who all but one of which had been killed--was displayed on the screen.

Idly, Draco scanned the columns of names, hoping some of his parents' more terrible acquaintances had been on the cruise.

He found no such happy news and quickly glanced over the list of crewmen, his eyes coming to a screeching halt on the one name he had hoped to never see on a list like the one it was on now.

_Harry Potter_.

He listened numbly as the news lady explained that Harry's body was the only one not found in the wreckage because, according to a note left at the scene, he had been taken as a "trophy" by the pirates.

She went on to say how past "trophies" had all turned up dead--sometimes years later--all with signs of extreme sexual abuse. The authorities were doing their best, but there were severe doubts that they would find Harry in time, if at all.

Draco slowly raised the remote to turn off the TV, then let his arm fall limply to his side.

Harry was missing, and there was little to no hope of rescue.

It would only be a matter of time before his perfect, beautiful body that Draco had so enjoyed worshipping in the past would turn up abused, violated, and devoid of life.

Draco's emotions were rapidly raging out of control, and there was nothing he could do, nothing he could say to himself, that would stop it.

All at once, the numbness was gone, swept away by a raging tide of grief that completely consumed Draco within seconds.

A sob caught in his chest, refusing to pass his tightly compressed lips, but was forced out by other sobs too powerful to be repressed. He curled into a ball on his bed and gave himself completely to the grief, shaking hard with the force of his emotions and the sobs being torn from his chest.

Gasping for breath, he thought brokenly, _Harry, you broke your promise! How could you leave me with them?_

This thought provoked a feeling a betrayal to steal slowly over him, giving his grief a bitter edge. He couldn't help but feel that, by dying, Harry was breaking their promise and abandoning him to his fate.

This, of course, was not true (in more ways than one) but Draco could not help but feel the betrayal.

It did not detract from his love for Harry, which would certainly last forever, but instead left him bitter about love as a whole. This was partially spurned on by his lack of experience with love, what little experience he did possess always seeming to be tinged with some sort of hurt.

It was with these feelings in mind that Draco vowed to never love another in any way, shape, or form again.

* * *

(1) Is this how you spell it? I don't remember and don't feel like looking it up so I figured I'd ask you guys.

**Finally, the first section of the story is completed! I know it's a bit more angsty than the original TPB, but I did warn that I would be making some changes. **

**From now on, I will probably update only once every two weeks, but I'll try and aim for once a week. (If you guys review, I'll be more inclined to update more often! :D) Also, the next chapter should be a bit longer, so that's something to look forward to!**

**Oh, about the Voldemort, Dark Lord thing, I'll be explaining more in the next chapter, so don't worry if you're a tad confused. **

**Also, the characters playing Vizzini, Inigo, and Fezzik shall be appearing next chapter so if you have any thoughts on whom they should be, this is sort of your last chance to voice them!**

**Remember, REVIEW!**

**Ciao,**

**Waffles**


	5. The Kidnapping

**So sorry I'm late updating. For some reason, when I was typing, the story was saved wrong or something and when I uploaded it, it was just a bunch of funky-ass symbols, so I had to re-type the whole thing. Stupid computer.**

**This is the part where I get to reveal who the "Dark Lord" is and who gets to play Humperdink, Vizzini, Inigo, and Fezzik (and no, Hagrid is not Fezzik, though I did consider it for awhile).**

**Oh yeah, there's also a rather random Dumbledore/Minerva pairing, just because I couldn't think of anyone else to be his wife, so hope you aren't too terribly disturbed by that. And Draco is a real potty-mouth from here on out so be warned. And from here up until about chapter 5 or 6 there is Ginny-bashing. (But really, most people who like Harry/Draco don't like Ginny, so I could have probably skipped this warning altogether. Still, it pays to be polite.)**

**So, without further ado, away with you!**

* * *

Five years passed, and a great many things happened.

First, and most significant, Draco became very anti-social and only left the house once a day for a two-hour walk through a nearby park.

He rarely spoke to anyone, least of all his parents, and it was always in the same listless way. Though, occasionally, the mood did take him to have a brief conversation with the slave that had been bought to replace Harry.

However, these conversations usually sent him into a deeper depression than before and he normally wouldn't speak a word for days afterward.

Had he been a man with less pride and hadn't been brought to protect the family image at all costs, he would have committed suicide long before. Without Harry, he found little point in things, especially with his parents' ominous plans hanging over his head and getting heavier and more frightening every day that passed.

Lucius and Narcissa, at first pleased because the interfering slave had no hope of returning to ruin their plans, soon became irritated at Draco's lack of interest in anything.

"He's not fit for the Dark Lord in this state!" Lucius would rage, pacing in his study, "We shall again have to put off handing him over! The Dark Lord is not pleased!"

So they waited, and attempted to change Draco using tactics that, while considered abusive by most, left no lasting physical marks.

They did not work, and Draco remained as uninterested as ever.

In fact, Draco would've been abandoned as a candidate for the Dark Lord's…ah…_companion_ long ago if it hadn't been for his physical appearance.

Extreme grief had been kind to his features, hollowing out his cheeks, giving him an air of mystery and allure, thinning him down considerably (not that he'd been fat before, but now he was rather muscular) and making him more attractive all-around.

People traveled great distances to catch a glimpse of him, and snapshots taken while he was unawares sold at ridiculously high prices quite frequently. Because of this, Lucius and Narcissa were able to convince the Dark Lord to wait and see if Draco could be returned to the way he had been.

While the Dark Lord waited, he explored other options. There were many of them too.

For, unbeknownst to many, the unseen Dark Lord who had been terrorizing Rodsewans and those with Rodsewan blood for years, was Prince Tom Marvolo Dumbledore, the one and only heir to the throne of Linai. However, he had one more thing to do before he could legally take the throne, otherwise he would have had his father, King Albus, bumped off already.

Actually, the King would've been kicked off the throne for simple lack of competence long ago if it hadn't been for his wife, the wise Queen Minerva. King Albus was already past the senile stage and now well into the "So Old I'm Legally Insane" stage.

Unfortunately, (for Tom anyway) if Tom did not marry someone of pure Linnivian blood—guy or girl, it didn't matter (1)—he would not inherit the throne, and because Minerva was the consort and therefore was not qualified to hold the throne, even as a regent, his dear Uncle Grindelwald would be crowned King.

This, obviously, was unacceptable, and Minerva took every opportunity she could to set her son up with any guy or girl that met the qualifications and was unattached. Tom, however, refused them all, despite being rather pressed for time.

The young Draco, through the few times Tom had seen him and the pictures Lucius had provided him with over the years, made Tom burn with need. He would accept no other, though he might pretend for a while, for Draco suited his purposes perfectly. He would use him, then discard him, all in a way that went perfectly with his plans.

So, five years to the day after Harry's kidnapping, Tom demanded Draco's hand in marriage. And Draco accepted; partly because he had to, and partly because he was thankful to get out of the house that was full of memories of Harry and their time together.

He did, however, warn Tom that he would never love him—not that he thought he actually cared, but he figured it was expected for appearance's sake.

He was correct about Tom's lack of interest in love—it didn't figure into his plans in the slightest—but Tom (for appearance's sake) assured him that they would grow to love each other.

Within the week Draco was moved into his own suite of rooms in the castle, where he would stay until the wedding, which was still a month or so away. He was also given permission to continue his daily walks in the Royal Forest, as long as he kept within the forest.

During the month or so until the wedding, Tom attempted almost daily to charm his way into Draco's bed—he found forcing himself on people to be rather distasteful, otherwise he would've done it from the start—but nothing he did worked.

It wasn't long before Tom lost patience with Draco's stubbornness, and he decided to put his plans into action sooner rather than later.

* * *

One day, about a week before the wedding, while Draco was out for his customary walk, brooding about things, he came across a small group of people.

There were four people in this group, and only one of them looked even vaguely familiar to Draco, but he couldn't quite seem to place her.

She had flaming hair, pixie-like features, and a stature of only 5'4". She was wearing a dressy-looking blouse, jeans, and heels, and from her stance, appeared to be the leader.

The second person to catch Draco's attention was standing to the girl's left and slightly behind her, and despite his impressive height of 6'4", was slouching over. He was a gangly man with limp brown hair, fearful brown eyes, a surprisingly muscular figure and a pinched, drawn face. He was dressed in an ill-fitting black track suit with sneakers and an out-of-place sword belted at his waist.

The last two were standing side-by-side off to the girl's left, and could've been twins, they looked so similar. They were both 6'6", and both resembled walls, with bulging muscles, broad frames, and from what Draco could tell, they weren't much more intelligent than walls. They were dressed in nearly identical thug outfits, and clearly their only purpose in life was to harm at the instruction of someone much more intelligent than they.

The red-head spoke first in a shrill tone, rather reminiscent of an old hag. "Good Sir, we are but traveling performers that got lost in this inconveniently-placed forest," began the girl, a pleading note in her tone, "Could you please tell us how close the nearest village is?"

Draco paused for a moment, debating whether or not to reply, then, having decided to grace them with an answer, turned and pointed to his left, "The nearest town is about ten miles that way, "Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be on ymway."

He made to brush past the girl and her entourage, but was stayed by the meaty paw suddenly on his shoulder.

An odd light glinted in the girl's eyes.

"Good," she hissed, her tone suddenly eager and malicious, "That means no one shall be able to hear your screams for help!"

Then, before Draco could react, one of the gorillas swung him up over their shoulder and the group set off briskly down the trail, in the opposite direction that Draco had said the town was in.

They walked for about ten minutes, giving Draco just enough time to curse himself hoarse and badly bruise his fists on his carrier's back.

They were now on a pier, standing next to a small-sized motorboat that was bobbing serenely up and down with the movement of the outgoing tide.

The girl triumphantly ripped off a piece of Draco's custom-made jacket—much to his indignation—and left it on the ground with a piece of material from a Rodsewan soldier's uniform.

She turned and cackled, explaining, "This way, it will look like Pretty-Boy here was kidnapped by soldiers from Rodsew, then we'll take him and kill him in Rodsew. When his body is discovered by the irate prince, the two countries will go to war! It's the perfect plan!"

She cackled again but Draco just glared at her in disgust.

"That is by far the most fucking ridiculous plan I have ever heard," he sneered as he was set down by one of the gorillas, "You dumbasses do realize that Prince Tom is the best tracker in the world, correct?"

"Yes, and that is why we are sailing across the sea to Rodsew, so there will be no doubt in his mind about who killed you!" the girl snapped, "Crabbe, stick this idiot in the boat now."

With a grunt of assent, one of the gorillas, the one one who'd picked him up before, lifted Draco and set him on a middle bench in the boat.

For the most part, Linai and Rodsew were separated by the Adesian mountain range, but on the side where they both touched the Mediterranean, they were separated by the small Adesian Sea (2), that one could easily cross in about two hours, even in only a motorboat.

"Wait, Ginny, I thought you said we weren't going to hurt anyone!" whined the gangly man, gingerly boarding the boat, "I didn't agree to this!"

"And we aren't," Ginny retorted, apparently that was the girl's name, "Merely indirectly causing them to die. Not the same thing at all."

"What's 'indirectly' mean?" asked the gorilla that was not Crabbe.

Ginny rolled her eyes and gestured for Crabbe to start the engine, I swear, Goyle, you parents had to have been siblings or something. Ask Neville if it's oh-so-important."

Goyle looked inquiringly at the gangly man, who was apparently named Neville.

Neville shrugged, "It's rather difficult to explain. Let's just say that we will be causing the war, which will cause people to be injured and quite possibly die."

Draco snorted derisively as they began to slowly move to the open sea, gaining momentum, "And you dumbasses call yourselves kidnappers. I know schoolchildren that would do a much better job than you assholes."

Ginny turned and sent a scorching glare at Draco from her position in the bow of the boat, "Neville, gag the insolent wretch. Obviously, he needs to learn some manners,"

With an apologetic half-smile, Neville tied Draco's hands and feet and put masking tape over his mouth.

"There, now we can travel in peace," Ginny said in satisfaction, turning back around.

* * *

They traveled in silence for about an hour or so, Crabbe deftly steering the boat and everyone else sitting quietly, save Neville, who turned every so often to stare behind them.

Finally, Goyle's curiosity overcame him.

"What are you doing, Longbottom?" he demanded.

"Checking to make sure no one's following us," Neville replied, glancing over his shoulder again.

"How stupid!" Ginny laughed, "No one's following us; that's impossible!"

"Are you sure?" asked Neville uncertainly, staring over his shoulder, "Because I think someone's following us."

As one, everyone, including Draco, turned around to stare behind them at the small speedboat slowly gaining on them, though it was still little more than a blemish on the horizon.

"Just a fisherman out to catch some fish," Ginny dismissed after a moment, turning back around, "He can't possibly be following us."

Neville shrugged, "If you say so." Inwardly, however, he was not as convinced as he appeared to be.

_That guy must've seen us kidnap Malfoy!_ he thought worriedly, _What'll we do?! _He thought for a moment, _Though, maybe Ginny is right, maybe he's just a fisherman. Yeah, she's probably right. She _is_ the greatest mind in Europe—possibly the world—after all!_

Though his belief in Ginny didn't stop him from glancing over his shoulder every so often to silently observe the mystery boat.

* * *

About half an hour passed in silence, the only was of the engine, and the only person who was really moving was Neville, who looked over his shoulder every five minutes to see the "fisherman" steadily gain on them.

Finally, he couldn't keep quiet. "You know, Ginny, I really think that boat is following us," he said nervously, staring over his shoulder, "I mean, if he was a fisherman, wouldn't he have stopped by now to catch some fish or something?"

"Stop worrying, Neville, he's probably a deep-sea fisherman, or some such nonsense," scoffed Ginny, not even bothering to turn around, "As I've already said, it's impossible that he'd be following us!"

Neville shrugged and gave the same reply as he had earlier, as he was still not completely convinced, "If you say so."

He continued to glance behind them at regular intervals, and silently noted how close the boat was getting.

Shortly thereafter, they laid eyes on what Ginny informed them were the Cliffs of Inconceivability, their destination. So named because of how inconceivably steep and impossible to climb they were.

Quickly, they landed and exited the boat, Draco once more over Crabbe's shoulder.

"Ginny, I really think that boat is following us," said Neville, staring out over the water at the now clearly-visible speedboat as they made their way to the thick rope dangling down the cliff.

Ginny turned and stared out over the water as well, glaring icily at the boat as it came steadily closer.

"No! It is impossible!" she insisted, "Hurry, let's ascend before he gets a good look at us!"

So saying, Goyle helped Crabbe tie Draco to his back, then Neville tied himself to Goyle's back, while Ginny sat in a specially-made sling attached to Goyle's chest. Then, Goyle leading and Crabbe follwing, they began to climb the rope, hand-over-hand, without pause.

Steadily, they rose into the air, the two gorillas continuing on tirelessly.

Once they were about halfway up the cliff, Neville happened to glance down at the ground below them, and was decidedly unsurprised to see a lithe figure clad all in black, face covered by a mask, ascending as well.

"Ginny, I'm pretty sure the man from the boat is following us," he said anxiously, watching as the man pulled himself after them at a startling pace.

Ginny glanced down and saw the man as well. "How can he be gaining on us?!" she shrieked, enraged, "It's impossible! Goyle, go faster!"

So Goyle sped up, leaving Crabbe to do so as well.

Egged on by Ginny's shrieks, they soon reached the top, where Draco was once again slung over Crabbe's shoulder while Neville and Ginny peered down at the man in black, who was now about ten feet from the top.

Neville looked at Ginny anxiously, "What should we do?"

Ginny smirked, "Cut the rope of course!"

She pulled a dagger out of its hidden sheath in her boot and went over to the boulder the rope was wrapped tightly around, sawing at the rope. The rope was very thick, so it took a few moments to saw through, but when it was done, Ginny rushed back to the edge to catch a glimpse of the man as he fell.

She was extremely irritated to find that instead of falling to his death, the man was now clinging to the jagged cliff face and slowly beginning to make his way up it.

"ARGH! He can't possibly be climbing the Cliffs of Inconceivability! It's impossible!" Ginny cried, throwing her hands up in frustration.

"You know, Ginny, I really think you need to look up the definition of 'impossible'," Neville commented timidly, "Every time you've said it, you've been wrong."

"Shut up!" Ginny screeched, whirling towards him, eyes blazing, "I didn't ask you! Now you are going to wait here, and if he reaches the top, kill him with your sword!"

"My sword?!" Neville squeaked, "But Ginny…I'll probably have to fight left-handed so it isn't over so quickly!"

"Fine! Then fight left-handed!" Ginny snapped, "I don't care, so long as he dies!" She turned to glare at Crabbe and Goyle, "Let's go."

They all set off up a trail leading away from the cliffs, over some hills, and out of sight.

Neville nervously watched them disappear, then turned his attention back to the man in black, who was still hard at work scaling the cliff. He wasn't going very fast though; in fifteen minutes he'd moved maybe a couple feet.

Neville, for lack of anything better to do and rendered temporarily insane by his extreme nerves, hesitantly called out to the man, "Hello there! Are you alright?"

The man paused in his climbing and looked up at Neville. "Well hello to you as well. I'm fine, thank you. Well, as fine as one can expect to be while attempting to scale an impossible-to-climb cliff. And yourself?" the man replied politely, surprising Neville.

"Oh, well…" Neville faltered, unsure of what to say. After a moment, he just decided to tell the truth.

"Very nervous, actually," he called down sheepishly, "You see, when you reach the top, I'm supposed to kill you."

"Oh really?" asked the man mildly, "Then I suppose I'll have to hurry then."

He resumed his rather slow climbing and Neville watched in silence for a few minutes.

"You know," Neville finally called down, making the man pause, "I could throw down some rope to pull you up. If you wanted, I mean."

The man rather was rather amused by this suggestion. "But what if you were to cut the rope, like before? I mean, you are waiting to kill me, after all," the man replied, amused, "No, I think I'll stick with climbing. Thanks all the same."

Neville fell silent for a moment, gathering his courage and determination, then called down, "What if I were to swear to you on my beloved Luna's gravestone that no harm would come to you?"

His tone held a note of finality, as if he were swearing on something sacred and if he were to break this promise he'd be struck down instantaneously.

The man paused for a moment, considering, then said solemnly, "Alright."

Neville gave a silent nod and went over to the boulder the rope was wrapped around. He unwrapped a few loops and lowered it to the man, who grabbed it and scrabbled up as Neville slowly pulled him up. Reaching down, Neville grabbed the man's hand and pulled him the rest of the way up, over the edge of the cliff.

The man stood, revealing that he was an inch or so shorter than Neville. His skin, what little there was exposed, was darkly tanned, and stormy emerald eyes peered from the mask covering half his face and all of his hair. He was wearing a black muscle shirt that looked great on him (he was rather buff, but still trim), black leather pants, a black leather jacket, and black boots, with a sword at his side that didn't look nearly as out of place as Neville's did.

Instantly, he reached for the sword, but Neville's next words stayed his hand. "You can rest and catch your breath if you like," he offered shyly, "I'm in no hurry."

The man's hand dropped form the sword hilt and he all but flopped on a nearby log, "Thank you, that is most kind."

They sat silent for a moment, the man catching his breath, until Neville asked hesitantly, "Excuse me, I don't mean to be rude, but I have to ask. Is your hair extremely greasy?"

The man gave Neville an odd look, but pulled a dark lock out from under his mask all the same. "Nope. Very clean and fluffy. Might I ask why such a question would be relevant to anything? Especially anything concerning our fight? It strikes me as being rather random, I'm afraid."

Neville gave a nervous laugh, "Yes, well, my wife Luna was kidnapped and killed by an extremely greasy-haired man."

"That's terrible," replied the man sympathetically, "How did it happen?"

"Well," Neville sighed shakily, "Luna used to make custom hair products for the extremely wealthy and those with particularly severe hair issues. She was easily the best in her field, and people would pay thousands for her to make them shampoos for their hair.

"Well, one day, a man with the greasiest hair—Luna told me—that she'd ever seen came into the shop and ordered the strongest shampoo that Luna could concoct. To help with the greasiness, I assume. So they decided on a price and the man left to return in a year.

"I watched Luna pour her blood, sweat and tears into coming up with the perfect chemical compound for the man. She tested thousands of different combinations and obsessed over it constantly until one night, she finally got it right. She was ecstatic and declared that it was her best work ever.

"Not long after that, the appointed date rolled around and the man arrived. He took one look at it and sneered, refusing to pay the full price they'd agreed upon, and insisting on only paying half. Of course, Luna refused to sell it to him and he got angry. Tried to attack her.

"I had recently begun sword-fighting lessons and foolishly tried to take him on. I was easily defeated and knocked unconscious, and when I came to, Luna and the man were long gone.

"I have devoted my life to the sword ever since. One day, I wil find that man and say, 'Hello, my name is Neville Longbottom. You killed my wife, prepare to die.' And then I shall kill him."

Neville fell silent, a dark shadow in his eyes that left the man feeling vaguely uncomfortable and unsure of how he was expected to respond.

"Well, I'm sure you'll catch up with him soon," said the man finally, standing, "But for the moment, I believe we have a duel to get on with."

Neville nodded, "That we do."

He stood and the two swordsmen backed away from each other until there was about five feet between them.

Slowly, they both drew their swords, both holding the razor-edged weapons in their left hands. Still slowly, they began to circle each other, taking cautious, cat-like steps.

Neville's nervousness and hesitancy had been completely banished in the face of this duel in which one, or both, of them could, quite possibly, end up dead. This was one of the few things that could bring out Neville's inner determination and stubbornness.

Suddenly, Neville lunged, thrusting at the man's side, only to be expertly parried and countered. The duel was on.

The two danced nimbly around each other, thrusting and retreating, parrying and countering, dodging the occasional rock that dotted the otherwise sandy area they were fighting in. Swords flashing in the sunlight, they moved almost as if they were a were a dancing couple.

At first, the two seemed to be evenly matched. Neville would lunge forward with Gryffindor's Attack, and the man would counter with Hufflepuff's Defense and launch smoothly into Slytherin's Feint, which would cause Neville to use Ravenclaw's Defense to get away from. However, as the fight progressed, it became clear that the man in black was slowly gaining the upper hand.

Neville was delighted with this unexpected twist and moments later, he was cornered.

"I believe this is the end," said the man, advancing cautiously, "Surrender your sword and I may let you live."

Neville chuckled, "Well, I'm afraid I have a confession to make. You see, I'm quite skilled with my left hand, better than most even, and you have clearly bested me. But I am not left-handed." (A/N: cue dramatic music XD)

With that, he quickly switched his sword from his left hand to his right and began attacking with renewed vigor. It wasn't long before he had the man in black cornered.

"_Now_ the duel is over," Neville proclaimed triumphantly, "Kindly leave and go back to your boat so I won't have to kill you."

The man in black slowly smiled, "It seems that I too have a confession to make. I am not left-handed either." (A/N: more dramatic music!)

He quickly switched sword-hands and lunged into battle once again.

Neville was astonished; the man in black was winning!

Suddenly, with a flick of his wrist, the man in black expertly wrenched Neville's sword from his hand and sent it soaring out of reach.

Neville looked at the man in black apprehensively, but refused to beg for his life.

Ever since he had begun his training to defeat the greasy-haired man, he had been aware of the fact that he might be killed before he got a shot at revenge. He had—to the surprise of many who knew him—come to terms and made peace with this knowledge.

After all, the man had to die sometime, and who said Neville couldn't get him in the afterlife?

He dropped to his knees before the man and closed his eyes, tilting back his head so the man had a better shot at his neck. "Please do it quickly," he requested quietly.

The man in black looked down at the solemn figure before him thoughtfully. "It would be a shame to kill you, really," he mused, "So I won't. But I still can't have you following me."

And, with one smooth motion, he lifted his arm and slammed the hilt of his sword into the back of Neville's head, knocking him unconscious.

Turning, he left the figure slumped in the sand and ran up the path he knew the three remaining kidnappers had taken, determined to reach his goal.

* * *

(1) What I mean by this is not mpreg (I'm not quite brave enough to include that in any of my fics yet) but more along the lines of genetic engineering and surrogate mothers.

(2) The Adesian Sea and mountain range are, of course a figment of my imagination. Just thought I'd mention that.

**So, what'd you guys think of who I picked to play the different parts? I hope I got the Dark Lord/Voldemort thing at least a little cleared up, but if not you can always ask about it, or just wait for the chapter-after-next (approximately) for I shall be further explaining the matter then.**

**Anyway, reviews always welcome and hopefully I shall be more punctual getting the next chapter out.**

**Ciao,**

**Waffles**


	6. The Reuniting

**Sorry about being so late updating but I've been getting bogged down with end-of-the-tri projects and being sick. *grimaces* So, the only reason you guys are getting an update **_**now**_**, and not later is that I received an amusing and heartening review from a person called Relina that went like this:**

**WHY AREN'T YOU UPDATING?!**

**I was so amused by this that I decided to get on posting this chapter ASAP. And here it is. **

**Thank you Relina for the inspiration to get typing; this chapter is dedicated to you.**

**Ah yes, and there shall be a minor character death in this chapter, but it wasn't anything we didn't all see coming so don't be too terribly shocked.**

* * *

Ginny Goyle and Crabbe, with Draco over Crabbe's shoulder, were hurrying past a boulder field when Ginny happened to glance behind them and catch sight of the man in black in hot pursuit.

"Neville, defeated?!" she screeched, "Impossible! He must be stopped!" She whirled to face the gorilla at her side. "Crabbe, set the prick down and untie his legs. You and Goyle are to wait here and kill the man in black. The idiot is coming with me," she barked.

"How do we fight him?" asked Crabbe, his face uncharacteristically creased in worry, "He's got a sword; we don't."

"Hit him on the head with a rock or something!" screamed Ginny, "Use your size advantage! There are two of you after all!"

That said, she grabbed Draco's arm—who had had his feet untied by Goyle—and set off at a brisk pace, practically dragging Draco along behind her.

Crabbe and Goyle exchanged looks of confusion—they weren't good with anything less than step-by-step instructions—but seeing that the man in black was much closer, they grabbed good-sized rocks and hid behind a nearby boulder.

They listened impatiently for the man to come running up. They waited for about ten minutes, not daring to try and peek out, but still, the man did not come by.

Crabbe, beginning to get anxious, stepped out from behind the boulder and into the path, scanning for the man in black. To his consternation, the man was nowhere to be seen.

This was—in actual fact—a product of his and Goyle's combined stupidity.

While the Dunder-Headed Duo(1) had been figuring out what to do, the man in black had drawn close enough to see them waiting for him (it's not like he needed to be that close—they were mountain-sized after all). The man had continued on, thinking to take them with his speed—really, how fast could something that big be?—but when he'd seen them duck behind the boulder, he had almost done a little dance at the excellent opportunity for an ambush.

Creeping stealthily, he circled around to the side of the boulder farthest away from the pth, accurately deducing that the DD (Dunder-Headed Duo) would not think to make sure he didn't come around that way.

Poking his head cautiously around the side, he was delighted to see that the gorilla nearest him was staring intently at the other one, who was standing in the middle of the path, scanning for the man.

Quickly, but being careful to not make any noise, the man approached Goyle from behind, and when he was about two feet away, leapt agilely onto his back, locking his arms about Goyle's thick neck in the sleeper hold. The man had to squeeze very tightly because of the density of Goyle's neck, but his arms were strong and Goyle was out in a matter of seconds without a peep.

The man was just creeping up on Crabbe when Crabbe, sensing that something was amiss, whirled to face him. They both froze, waiting for the other to make the first move.

"What did you do to Goyle?" Crabbe roared after a moment or two, finally spotting his comrade's motionless body slumped on the ground behind the man.

"Oh, him? He's unconscious," replied the man easily, his careless tone belied by his wary gaze, "I snuck up on him."

"You didn't kill him?" Crabbe demanded suspiciously.

The man lifted his hands defensively, "Nope, just knocked him unconscious, I promise."

"Good," replied Crabbe with a sharp nod of his head, "But I still have to kill you."

"Well that's a shame," said the man, "I guess I'll just have to stop you then."

Without warning, Crabbe leapt at the man, surprisingly fast, but the man simply skipped nimbly out of the way to the side. Crabbe recovered himself and lunged again, the man once again easily dodging.

This time, the man also aimed a kick at Crabbe's shin, only to have his leg grabbed and be wrenched off his feet and into the air, dangling upside down. The man quickly twisted and swung his free leg at Crabbe's stomach. This didn't work either—Crabbe easily caught that leg as well—but then again, the man hadn't been expecting it to.

Immediately the man swung himself away from Crabbe and on the return swing, using his momentum, delivered an especially hard punch to Crabbe's chest.

Crabbe immediately dropped the man and grabbed his stomach, dropping to one knee in pain, but the man simply twisted and rolled, springing easily to his feet. It was almost ridiculous how nimble he was.

Acting quickly, the man wrapped his arms around Crabbe's neck and began to squeeze, just as he had with Goyle. Crabbe struggled and tried to pull the man off of him, but it didn't work.

"It seems that you are beaten," gasped the man, just as Crabbe was beginning to lose consciousness, "Goodbye, I hope we do not meet again." With that, Crabbe went limp and pulled the man with him as he fell heavily to the ground.

Disentangling himself, the man stood and, with one last glance at the DD lying unconscious on the ground, loped off along the path.

* * *

After several minutes of running up and down various hills, the man crested an especially steep hill and looked down to see Ginny and Draco seated, seemingly waiting for him. Warily, he jogged down to them.

Ginny was seated on the ground before a large flat rock facing the man, with two goblets and a bottle of wine arranged before her. Draco was sitting on Ginny's left, blind-folded with his hands tied behind his back. AS he drew closer, the man clearly made out the smirk adorning Ginny's face.

The man stopped several feet away and peered warily at Ginny, "Hello."

"Hello," she returned pleasantly, "Please, sit."

Warily, the man took the offered seat across the rock from her and gave Ginny a direct look, "Miss, wouldn't it be wiser if you were to be hiding somewhere with your captive? I mean, you don't exactly seem fit for a physical confrontation."

"Ah, but that is where you are sorely mistaken, dear sir," replied Ginny sweetly, "You see, I am not so foolish as to engage in a battle where our physical prowess will tested against each other; it is painfully obvious that you would best me without even trying. Instead, I shall challenge you to a battle of wits. After all, I am the possessor of the sharpest mind in existence."

"Really?" asked the man, his interest piqued, "Perhaps I have heard of you. Pray tell, what is your name?"

"Ginny Weasley," Ginny replied promptly, "Though it's doubtful you've heard of me. Those outside the circles of intellect rarely pay attention to things like who is the most intelligent."

The man shrugged, giving a small smile, "If you say so. So, what shall this competition consist of? Please, explain."

"Alright, I shall enlighten you," Ginny's smirk widened in superiority, "I am going to hand you a vial of poison and the two glasses of wine. You shall put the poison into the cup of your choosing and I, with my overwhelming intellect, shall deduce which cup you chose."

The man nodded, "I see. Well then, let us proceed."

Ginny, still smirking, reached down and pulled from the bag at her side a plastic baggie containing white powder. She passed it to the man in black who gave it a speculative glance before opening the bag and cautiously sniffing the contents.

After a few moments, he turned amused eyes on Ginny. "Iocane powder?" he asked, extremely amused, "Well, this really is no holds barred. No smell, no taste, dissolves clear…and can kill you in seconds. I'm impressed."

"Thank you," said Ginny smugly, preening slightly, "Now please, proceed."

The man nodded and, grabbing the cups set out before him and Ginny, one in each hand, turned his back on Ginny and Draco. After a few moments, he turned back and replaced the cups in their original positions.

"Now, let the match begin," proclaimed the man, swinging his hand out wide over the rock.

Ginny's smirk was back in place as she considered the glasses before her. After a minute or two, she began to speak.

"Well, you beat Neville, which means you are an expert swordsman. As such, you are very aware of the fragility of life. This means that you have placed the poison as far from you as possible, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of me," said Ginny.

The man's eyes danced in amusement at some joke only he seemed to be privy to. "So you've made your choice?" he asked, amusement coloring his voice.

Ginny chuckled darkly, "Au contraire, I'm just getting started. For, because you beat the muscle-bound morons, you must be a man of great strength and cunning. As such, you most assuredly view yourself as being near invincible, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of you.

"You, however, knew immediately what the poison was, which means you've frequently dealt with unsavory people and situations, which has surely instilled within you a distrust of people, and you naturally believe everyone else possess this, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of me.

"However, because you have no doubt been involved in games of intrigue through your unsavory connections, you know that enemies quite frequently anticipate each other's moves, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of you."

The man's amusement had only grown as Ginny had explained and there was now a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, "Now you're just stalling."

"Also, because enemies anticipate each other's moves, they anticipate the anticipation, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of me. And that is my final decision," said Ginny.

The man nodded, "Good."

He was just reaching across the rock for the glass in front of Ginny, when she saw something behind him, her eyes widening in shock.

"What is that?" she cried, pointing.

The man twisted quickly around, his hand reaching for a concealed knife, and Ginny quickly, before he turned back around, leaned over and switched the cups. She put her hands back in her lap just as the man turned back around.

"I didn't see anything," he said, confused, replacing his knife, "What exactly did you see?"

"Oh, well it's probably nothing," Ginny dismissed abruptly with a wave of her hand, "Let's just get this over with."

"Right."

So saying, the two reached for their designated cups and lifted them to their lips. Simultaneously, they tipped their heads back and downed the contents of their cups.

Ginny watched gleefully as the man delicately set his cup on the rock in front of him before bursting out, "Ha! I got you! When you looked away, I switched the glasses, so you got the poisoned one! Now I'll be able to exact my revenge on this irritating prick!"

Ginny's face was now twisted with savage glee, but the man's face remained surprisingly calm, a knowing smile playing at the edges of his mouth.

"And why, pray tell, would you wish to exact revenge on him? He doesn't strike me as being particularly powerful or threatening," asked the man, resting his chin in his palm with his elbow upon the rock.

Ginny chuckled mirthlessly, "Well since you're about to die anyway, I suppose I'll tell you. This imbecile"—she gestured at Draco—"is the reason why my darling Harry ran away and got himself killed by pirates! If it hadn't been for the Prince of Pricks, here, we would've been happily married with children by now!"

Draco jerked violently at her words, but his gag prevented him from commenting.

The man shook his head, "And I'm sure getting this job only helped to solidify your plans. But really, it won't matter in about thirty seconds or so."

Ginny was now confused, "What are you talking about? I drank the one without the poison. You're going to die, not me."

The man smirked, "Ah, but that's where you're wrong; neither cup was poisoned."

Ginny's confusion grew, "Then wha-"

Suddenly, the man lunged across the rock, a hidden dagger in his hand, and stabbed Ginny right through the heart.

The man released the dagger and sat back down, not bothering to right the cups and wine bottle that he'd knocked over, content to sit and watch Ginny.

Ginny, for her part, was staring down at the dagger in her breast in shock, eyes wide. After a moment, she turned her gaze on the man, her breath coming in short gasps, making it difficult to speak.

"Why?" she wheezed, after a moment.

The man gave a predatory grin, emerald eyes sparking, "If I actually chose a goblet I'd have a chance of losing. And my plans simply wouldn't allow for my death."

He stood and walked around the rock to Ginny, then knelt down beside her, leaning forward so his mouth was right next to her ear.

"And," he breathed, not wishing to give himself away just yet, "You were going to kill _my_ Draco. I warned you Ginny. Too bad you didn't listen."

He leaned back and watched as realization and the pain of betrayal dawned in Ginny's face and her breathing became even more labored and difficult.

"Har-" she gasped, but she didn't have enough air to continue speaking and, before she could draw another breath, she was dead.

An expression surprisingly akin to pain passed over the man's face, but was gone almost instantaneously. With a nod, he retrieved his dagger from Ginny's limp form and wiped the blood off on the grass. Standing, he approached Draco and removed his gag and blindfold.

The first thing Draco did was look warily at the man crouched before him, then over at Ginny, lying dead on the ground.

"What happened?" asked Draco, studying the body dispassionately, "I thought she didn't drink the poison."

"No," the man agreed, cutting the bonds on Draco's wrists, "I stabbed her. Simpler than poisoning; a lot less can go wrong."

Draco studied Ginny's wide, staring eyes for a few more seconds, then glared up at the man standing over him. "So are you planning on killing me off too?" he demanded.

The man gave an odd smile, "Maybe, if I feel like it. Now get up; we have to leave."

Draco sullenly got to his feet and followed without resisting as the man grabbed his arm and pulled him along the path. They traveled in silence for a few moments, Draco brooding at this change in circumstance and the man thinking his unfathomable thoughts.

"You know," Draco said after a few minutes, "My fiancé is the Prince of Linai and would reward you generously for releasing me."

The man laughed coldly, not stopping, "And why would you think I care for your money? I have more money than I could ever want or need. Pirating is profitable that way."

Draco stopped short, horrified by a sudden realization. "You're the pirate Voldemort!" he cried, wrenching his arm from the man's grasp in disgust, "You're the bastard that killed my love five years ago!"

"Your 'love'?" the man mocked, turning, "I thought you were engaged? Is your love so fickle a thing that you have many at once? Do you even remember what this 'love' of yours looks like?"

"Of course, you asshole!" Draco snapped, "He had deep black hair and his eyes were vibrant green. He was taller than me, with sharp features, a dusky tan, and a lightning bolt scar on his forehead."

"Yes, I seem to remember him," replied Voldemort, a thoughtful look upon his face, "As I recall, he is the only prisoner to date that has never begged for his life. That was actually part of the reason we took him with us. Though he didn't last long once the crew got to him. Too bad, really; I had rather been looking forward to having a piece of him myself."

Draco was beyond furious, and his only response was to growl deep in his throat. The surprisingly feral sound startled Voldemort, but after a moment he just grinned.

"Well, well, you _do _seem upset," he taunted, "Maybe he's a better fuck than I thought. Or he was just really rich. After all, why else would a cold-hearted bitch like you be interested in him?"

"Fucking asshole, _shut up!_" Draco snarled, but the man just smirked knowingly at him.

His temper finally boiling over, he swung a punch at Voldemort, who, to Draco's irritation, merely was amused by this. The punch connected squarely with Voldemort's jaw and sent him stumbling back a step or two, but he was otherwise unperturbed.

Righting himself, Voldemort sauntered the couple steps to Draco, the amused smirk on his face giving Draco an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Draco stood tensed warily as Voldemort got within a few inches of him, then bent down to whisper in his ear.

"Now, now, darling," he was chided in a throaty purr, "Is that any way to treat your 'love'?"

Draco reeled back in shock and stared at 'Voldemort', his grey eyes probing the mask and clothes, finally colliding with the intense green gaze that was dancing with amusement. AS they continued to stare at each other, realization finally dawned in Draco's foggy mind and his facefirst creased in joy, and then, remembering the circumstances, twisted in rage.

"You. Fucking. Son. Of. A. BITCH!" he yelled, "How the fuck could you do something like that to me?! How could you watch me and not saying fucking _anything_?!"

Without thinking, Draco once more drew his arm back and punched 'Voldemort' again, who's amusement had been replaced by anguish.

'Voldemort' stumbled back once again with the force of the punch, but was otherwise unaffected, using the opportunity to remove his mask with his back turned to Draco. Slowly, he turned back and Draco stared silently at the face of his long lost lover, Harry Potter.

Slowly, suddenly very uncertain in the face of his former lover's rage, Harry, Voldemort, opened his arms to Draco, silently pleading with him. Instantly, Draco threw himself at Harry, his previous anger completely forgotten as his arms wound tightly about Harry as if they had no intention of ever being removed.

The two stood together, silent, tears pouring down Draco's cheeks unheeded while they just hugged each other, burying their faces in each other's necks.

Finally, they released their tight holds and drew back to study each other and see what had changed in their years apart.

Harry's hair was as messy as ever, but now it was longer and drawn back in a short ponytail at the nape of his neck. His features were sharper, more masculine, his skin was darker, and his body was more muscular. Draco found him even more attractive than before he'd left.

"Why didn't you ever contact me?" asked Draco, unable to contain the question any longer, "Why did you let me believe you were dead for so long?"

"Because I was trying to build up a sizable nest egg without fear of your parents discovering me," Harry replied, "It almost killed me to do it, but if I had been in contact with you, your parents probably would've eventually found out."

Draco nodded reluctantly, recognizing the truth in his words, but loath to admit it all the same. Then another question occurred to him.

"Why did you talk to me as if you really believed I had abandoned you?" Draco asked suddenly, tensing up.

Harry sighed heavily and leaned forward to press his forehead to Draco's, "Because, love, I had to be sure of the situation before I could reveal myself to you." He gave a crooked smile, "Besides, you know I've never been one to have much self-esteem, and I guess that hasn't really ever changed."

Draco smiled, "Alright, but don't let it happen again. I would _never_ leave you, no matter what was offered."

Simultaneously, they leaned closer and pressed their lips together in a tentative kiss. That only lasted a moment or so though before becoming a wild kiss that expressed the longing the two had felt better than words ever could.

They came up for air after a few moments, and Draco opened his eyes to meet Harry's which had been darkened with lust to a deep forest green. They held each other's gazes for a long moment before Harry bent down to Draco's mouth again.

"God I've missed you," he breathed, capturing Draco's mouth in a wild kiss. With a gentle thrust of the tongue, he was inside Draco's mouth and as their tongues slid over each other, he just couldn't resist sliding a hand up under Draco's shirt and over his chest. He paused over his ribs, which could be felt through his skin.

Drawing back, Harry peered worriedly down at Draco, silently taking in his lover's gaunt face and too-thin frame. (He hadn't noticed before because he'd been distracted by the attraction to Draco.)

"Draco, why are you so thin?" he cried, "Haven't you been eating?"

"I had no interest in it when I heard of your supposed demise," Draco replied nonchalantly, "Didn't I say the day you left that I loved you? I meant it! So when I thought you were dead, I couldn't help but lose interest in things."

Harry glared down at Draco, "I don't care! AS soon as possible, I'm going to work on getting you to gain weight, even if I have to hook you up to an IV to do it!"

Draco pouted up and him, inwardly elated at having someone once again to care about his physical health for reasons other than personal gain, "But then I won't have sufficient energy for some of our more…vigorous activities."

Harry chuckled, leaning down to nibble a bit on the side of Draco's neck. "And that would be a right shame," he purred throatily, sending shivers down Draco's back, "Though maybe if we incorporated something like chocolate, or cream…"

The mental images alone were enough to make Draco start gasping, but they were suddenly interrupted by the sound of a hunting horn.

Confused, the two looked around to see, up on top of a hill, fifty or so horsemen, lead by Prince Tom. Eyes widening reflexively, the two simultaneously took instinctive steps backward, and went tumbling down the steep hill they'd forgotten they'd been standing atop.

* * *

To Tom, sitting atop his horse on the nearby hill, it looked like Voldemort had pushed Draco down the hill and then followed, sending them both into the ravine where they would be able to flee into the Forbidden Forest.

"Count Snape," he snapped, looking at the man to his immediate left, "Do you believe that he will try for the forest?"

"Quite possibly," replied Snape in his cold, flat voice, "I wouldn't suggest that we follow, however. Another option would be to circle around to the place they will most likely exit at."

Tom nodded, "Sounds good. Let's go."

As one, the group wheeled around and followed Snape to the spot he believed Voldemort would most likely pop out of the forest at.

* * *

While Tom and co. were making their move, Draco and Harry were in the bottom of the ravine trying to figure out theirs.

"Draco, it appears your lover boy is after us," commented Harry, sitting up from where he'd landed after rolling down the huge hill.

"So it appears," Draco agreed, also sitting up, "What shall we do?"

"Head into the Forbidden Forest, I suppose," Harry replied, pulling twigs and grass out of Draco's now-ruined hair, "It's not like they will follow."

"Yeah, probably because they know we'll die in there," Draco returned acidly, "Did that fall addle your brain? No one's ever made it out of the Forest alive!"

"Nonsense!" Harry declared airily, standing, "That's only because none of them were as wise or experienced as we. We'll be fine! Come on!"

So Draco stood as well and they scampered off into the forest, Harry determinedly optimistic and Draco stubbornly pessimistic.

* * *

(1) So when I came up with this, I had Snape in mind. I just love him. XD

**So, what'd you think? Review please! If you have questions about things I changed (such as Ginny's death or Draco and Harry's Recognization Scene), please feel free to ask! **

**The next chapter will probably be quite a bit shorter, but the one after that will be quite long. Hopefully, I will be able to get it up on schedule.**

**Ciao,**

**Waffles**


	7. The Forbidden Forest

**Sorry this chapter is so short, it was originally supposed to be part of the last chapter, but I decided to cut it off so I could get the damn thing posted. The next one will be longer, I promise.**

**So, I was too lazy to do it last time, but I thought I should explain why Draco and Harry's reunion went the way it did. **

**I'd always thought that Buttercup should be a bit angrier with Westley, and I simply couldn't see Draco just going "Yay! You're back!" without being at least a little irritated with Harry for deceiving him.**

**Anyway, I'll be posting the next chappie soon (hopefully), so ONWARD!**

* * *

Draco and Harry made their way through the forest, only daring to slow down and talk once they were completely out of sight of the edge of the huge trees.

The forest was dark, despite it being daytime, and things were moving and yowling and all other sorts of things all around. The trees were all hundreds of feet tall and their bases were impossibly large, making it hard to see anything very far ahead.

Draco, feeling slightly nervous, kept right at Harry's shoulder and voiced a question that had been bothering him for some time. "So, Harry, how _did_ you come to be Voldemort? He has, after all, been terrorizing people longer than we've been alive. You were even captured by him! Unless…" a thought struck him, "Don't tell me this was all a conspiracy!"

Draco looked suspiciously at Harry, who just laughed. "No, no, nothing like that," he chuckled, "See, the original Voldemort retired to the Bahamas with all his riches _years_ ago, but passed on the name and ship to his first mate. That was the 'Voldemort' I met. When they first captured me, they thought I was a goner for sure. Then he turned out to be pretty decent for a pirate; even took me on as cabin boy and kept the crew from touching me. Apparently, he'd been looking for a replacement for awhile, and I was perfect. After a year or so, he kicked out the old crew, helped me get a new one, and stayed on as first mate for awhile to establish my identity. Then he took all his riches and retired to England or someplace like that, to live with his lover who worked in a zoo, I think."

"So if his name wasn't Voldemort, then what was it?" asked Draco curiously, "Couldn't he have used his own name?"

Harry chuckled, "Well if he had, where would that leave me? Who would tremble in fear at hearing 'Harry'? Certainly no one in their right minds; it's much too common a name. As for his name, I believe it was Sirius Black, and if I remember correctly, his lover's name was Remus Lupin. Terribly nice people for being pirates. As soon as we get out of here, we'll have to settle down like they did."

Draco turned and beamed at Harry, who silently congratulated himself on a suggestion well-timed.

Unfortunately, because Draco was so pleased, he did not see the sand trap in front of him and stepped directly into it, falling straight down and out of sight without time to even scream.

Thinking quickly, Harry grabbed a sturdy vine wrapped securely around a nearby tree and dove down into the sand after Draco. The vine pulled taut and Harry's head reappeared a minute or so later, gasping for air and blinking sand out of his eyes. Draco's head closely followed his, also gasping for air; his arms were locked about Harry's neck in a death-grip.

Straining a bit, Harry used the vine to pull himself and Draco out of the sand pit, collapsing on the ground wearily once they were free. Draco coughed up a bit of sand while Harry held him tightly.

"Well," said Harry after a minute or so, laying flat on his back with Draco curled on his chest, "Now we know at least part of the reason why they call this the Forbidden Forest. Though I don't see what all the hoo-haw is about, it really isn't all that bad. We could build a summer home here; no one would dare bother us."

Draco lifted his head and fixed Harry with a half-hearted glare, "Remind me to burn this place down when we get out."

Harry laughed and, sliding Draco off him, stood, offering the blonde a hand to help him up. "Come on," he said, pulling Draco to his feet, "All we have to do is get out of this forest, then I can call my first mate to come get us and we'll be in my ship and gone in no time."

"Sounds good," replied Draco, brushing sand out of his hair and off his clothes, "Let's get the fuck outta here before we run into some R.C.s or something."

"Rabid Capybaras (1)? I'm, not even sure those aren't a figment of someone's overactive imagination," Harry replied airily, turning so they could continue on their merry way.

Just then, an animal leapt out of the bushes, slamming into Harry's chest and knocking him to the ground. It was a bit bigger than a German shepherd, but obviously not canine. It had golden fur, a squarish snout, a rounded body, rat-like feet with webbed toes and beady red eyes.

It was a Rabid Capybara.

Rolling, Harry pinned it beneath him and reached for his sword, still hanging at his waist. Before he could reach it, the R.C. began to struggle violently and snap at his free hand. Wriggling, it got free and made a beeline for Draco, who was standing off to the side, shocked.

Seeing the beast coming for him, Draco was wrenched from his stupor and looked wildly around for something to use as a weapon. Stepping instinctively backward, he tripped over a log, falling to the ground.

Twisting sharply, Draco hit the ground on his side, gasping in pain as a large blunt object was jammed into his ribs. Scrambling to his feet, he discovered that it hadn't been something on the ground, but rather an object hidden within his jacket.

With a start and a groan at his own stupidity, Draco remembered the gun he'd purchased after Harry's "death" to protect himself from his parents' more sinister plans. All his jackets had a hidden pocket for it and he'd been carrying it for so long without needing to use it that when the time had actually come, he'd completely forgotten about it!

Mentally smacking himself on the forehead, Draco smoothly withdrew the gun, and, remembering the classes he'd taken, braced himself for the kickback, aimed, and fired. The Capybara, a mere three feet away, was hit right between the eyes and died instantly.

As Draco flipped the safety on and calmly replaced the gun, Harry stared in shock from his place on the ground, trying to form words.

"Since when do you have a gun?" he finally spluttered, his tone conveying his shock.

Draco shrugged and offered him a hand up; "I started carrying when I heard of your kidnapping to protect myself from my parents. I forgot I had it though; otherwise I would've used it on the morons. I would not have willingly subjected myself to their nonsense for anything."

Harry chuckled as Draco pulled him to his feet, "Somehow, the fact that you forgot you had a gun in your jacket and completely forgot about it when you most needed it doesn't surprise me in the least." His face hardened, "But even if she hadn't kidnapped you, Ginny still got what she deserved. She was always against the relationship I had with you, always wanting me for herself. She thought she could use me to garner sympathy and move up in rank." His expression darkened further, "That, and she wanted to kill you. You're mine, Draco, and no one harms what is mine."

Draco was surprised by Harry's possessiveness, but it suited him just fine; he felt the exact same way about Harry.

"Well how do you think I felt when Ginny said you and she were practically married when you left? If I hadn't been tied up, I would've killed her with my bare hands," snapped Draco waspishly, "Stupid bint, trying to steal _my_ lover."

Harry laughed and kissed Draco's forehead, "It's okay, love, I'd never leave you for anyone else. I haven't even looked at anyone like that in the past five years and took all sorts of crap for it. Apparently pirates aren't supposed to be celibate."

Draco just laughed, "Good, I'm glad to hear that, because otherwise I would've had to hunt down the people and kill them; I've been celibate too, you know."

Harry leered down at him, "Well, I _am_ a hard act to follow."

Draco laughed and punched him on the arm and they set off down the path once again. They both kept a wary eye out for any more sand traps or R.C.s, but encountered nothing.

* * *

After another forty-five minutes or so, Harry and Draco noticed that the trees were thinning, and soon they broke free of the massive things, blinking in the bright sunlight. They stopped for a moment to let their eyes adjust, then, quickly exchanging a grin, rushed forward in hopes of finding a road or something to follow.

Suddenly, an authoritative voice rang out, stopping them in their tracks, "Halt, kidnapper!"

Harry whirled around, simultaneously pushing Draco behind him and whipping out his sword to hold it defensively between him and the speaker; a tall man on horseback flanked by several others.

The man was about Harry's size with a lean build, thick, wavy, black hair, startling crimson eyes, aristocratic features and pale skin. He seemed to radiate authority tinged with no small amount of menace and his way of speaking compelled the listener to obey or suffer the consequences. This was, of course, Prince Tom Marvolo Dumbledore of Linai.

"Who are you?" Harry demanded as Draco peered nervously over his shoulder at his fiancé, knowing that this could only end badly.

Tom, ignoring Harry's question, barked, "Surrender now!"

"Surrender? To me?" Harry asked mockingly, "How kind of you to save us all some trouble."

"Return Draco to me immediately and I may yet allow you to live," Tom continued, unperturbed by Harry's taunting.

"Never!" Harry returned instantly, "He's mine!"

"Then you shall die," Tom replied calmly.

"Well that's certainly the only way I'll let you get to Draco!" Harry snapped.

Shifting nervously, Draco caught a glimpse of something glimmering in the corner of his eye and he turned his head to better see what it was. To his horror, he found a sniper partially hidden behind a tree, his rifle firmly fixed on Harry. Getting a sinking feeling, he looked to the opposite and found another one.

_I will _not_ lose Harry again!_ Draco inwardly cried.

Thinking quickly, he met Tom's gaze. "If I go with you, will you give your word that no harm will come to him?" he called out, startling Harry.

"Yes, if that is what you wish," Tom replied, his voice devoid of emotion.

"Draco, what are you doing?!" Harry demanded, slightly panicked because he got the feeling he knew _exactly _what Draco was doing.

"Just go with it, love," Draco replied softly. Louder, he said, "Fine then, I shall return with you to the castle to marry you."

Harry was horrified, "But…Draco…I…"

Draco turned and laid a finger over his lips, effectively silencing him as calm gray eyes met panicked emerald ones. "Harry, I love you with everything I have and it nearly killed me when I heard you had died," Draco explained softly, "If it were to happen again…before my very eyes…when I could stop it…I would never forgive myself." He paused, his eyes filled with pain, then forced himself to continue, "Remember, Harry, I will _always_ love you."

Draco's expression was calm, betraying none of the inner turmoil he suffered from at the thought of being separated from his love once again, but his eyes did show his pain.

Turning, Draco forced himself to walk calmly to Tom, ignoring Harry's protests. It was the only unselfish thing he'd ever done, and it almost killed him.

Eyes glittering in triumph, Tom turned to Snape at his side, "Count Snape, make sure that Harry is properly taken care of. Understood?"

Snape gave a brief nod of assent and urged his horse forward, a couple others following him, "Understood, my lord."

Quickly, Tom pulled Draco up onto his horse in front of him and they rode off, a couple soldiers tailing them while the rest hung back to assist Snape.

Dismounting, they rapidly rid Harry of his many hidden weapons and led him over to Snape, hands held firmly behind his back.

Snape was a tall, thin man with cold black eyes, an unfortunate nose, harsh facial features and a permanently unpleasant expression. His lank shoulder-length black hair was ridiculously greasy. He smirked nastily as Harry was forced to a stop before him.

"Dishonesty is unbecoming of men like us," said Harry slyly, smirking slightly up at Snape, "So let's just be honest and say that you're going to kill me now."

Snape's smirk widened, "If you wish. Men, tie his hands; we're taking him to Azkaban."

The soldiers hurried to obey and Harry finally noticed his captor's unfortunate hair; it almost looked wet, it was so greasy.

"Excuse me, but have you always had such greasy hair?" Harry asked, a secretive smile dancing about the edge of his mouth.

Snape ignored the question, glaring furiously down at him, "It seems the prisoner would be better off unconscious."

That being said, Snape drew his pistol and, reaching down, slammed the butt of it into Harry's head. He crumpled and fell; Draco's sad silver eyes the last thing he saw before losing consciousness.

* * *

(1) Well, if you think about it, capybaras are real-life R.O.U.S. (Rodents Of Unusual Size) so I couldn't help but put them in. I made the descrition as accurate as possible, but I may have gotten the size wrong (they may have actually been a bit _bigger_). Oh, and capybaras are herbivores. I highly doubt they will attack you and attempt to eat you. (But hey, you never know.)

**AGH. It is currently one in the morning and my eyes feel like they're going to fall out. Sorry about the slight cliffie; I should be posting relatively soon because this week is spring break (HALLELUJAH!).**

**Then again, I must just sleep all week; always a possibility, especially because I'm housesitting for my aunt and uncle.**

**Anywho, review and tell me what you think, I'm always open to suggestions. I'm off to stop the aliens from invading and stealing all our curtains, (quiet you, I'm tired) so I really must be going.**

**Ciao,**

**Waffles**


	8. And Now For Something Slightly Different

**Sorry this is so late, and rather short, but I thought a change in perspective was in order, and the next one will be short in coming (at least, that's what I'm hoping). So, away we go!**

* * *

Neville slowly regained consciousness, blinking blearily. There was an ache in the back of his head and as he sat up the pain flared, shooting through his skull. Gingerly, he touched his fingers to the back of his head, unsurprised when they encountered a tender lump.

Carefully, he brushed off the sand clinging to his face and clothes and stood, looking around for his sword. It was a few feet away and appeared undamaged, for which Neville was thankful.

"So what do I do now?" he wondered aloud, sheathing his sword, "I would like to help Ginny, but she's probably gone by now."

Then he remembered one of Ginny's favorite things to say, besides "impossible": "Back to the beginning."

_Well the beginning of this job was in the Thieves' Forest, where we first got the job in the pub with the terrible food_, mused Neville silently, _So that must be what she means._

Elated at having figured out the next step with no outside help, Neville took off in the direction of the nearest town with a ferry.

This ferry was significantly more efficient than Ginny's rowboat, so Neville was back on the Linnian side of the Adesian Sea within the hour.

Anxious, because he still wasn't exactly sure how long he'd been unconscious, Neville hurried to the Thieves' Forest and the sinister little bar where he'd met up with Ginny, Crabbe, and Goyle the day before.

Anxiously, he looked around he looked around for any signs of the three, but found none.

_It appears they haven't arrived yet, _he thought, relaxing slightly, _I suppose I'll just have to wait._

So he took up a post leaning against the outside of the pub, looking around for his cohorts, and he waited.

And waited.

And waited.

After three hours of waiting, a suspicion that had been steadily dancing around the edge of Neville's consciousness came forward to be acknowledged.

"_What if they waited for you, but left?" _whispered a nasty little voice, _"What if you got left ehind?"_

_Not possible,_ Neville immediately replied, _They would've waited, no matter how long I took._

"_Are you sure?"_ asked the voice mockingly, _"After all, you are next to pointless, with your atrocious fencing skills and ridiculous need for vengeance. Many would consider your presence in the alliance to be more of a hindrance than anything. They probably took the first chance they had to get rid of you!"_

It is felt at this point that some things must be explained about the man Neville Longbottom. Or, more specifically his personality.

His extremely defunct personality.

You see, ever since Neville's grandmother had convinced him by the time he was eleven that he was a disappointment and it would be best if he were to be sent away to boarding school so he wasn't such an embarrassment, he had developed some severe self-esteem and inferiority issues. That is to say, his self-image was significantly less-than-stellar.

He had suffered from this mental affliction was for years, and had showed no signs of getting better, even after his grandmother's untimely death when he was twenty. In fact, it was only after he'd met and begun to date Luna that he'd begun to get better with her help.

In fact, he had been on the verge of making a close to full recovery when the greasy-haired man had struck. Of course, this encounter did nothing to help his newly budding self-esteem, and it had begun to deteriorate steadily as days, weeks, months and years went by with no results in his search.

One of the main reasons he had teamed up with teamed up with Ginny in the first place was because she had helped keep the insecurities at bay, but even she in her brilliance couldn't come as close to helping him as Luna had. Oh how he missed his Luna…

Then, with his total defeat at the hands of a mysterious masked man in a subject he had thought himself nearly-invincible in, his self-image was bound to take a total nose-dive, he knew that. It was just happening much faster than he'd expected.

Even as he felt himself sinking into the state of super-depression he'd become familiar with in the years before he'd met Ginny, Neville forced himself to stumble drunkenly away from the pub and into a nearby alley (which, admittedly, wasn't much better).

Even as the haze of self-depreciation began to claim his vision, Neville cursed his stupid grandmother for her acid tongue and the stupid man in black for defeating him.

However, his last conscious thought before sinking into the oblivion of self-hate that his mind had become was of his dear beloved Luna.

_Loony, I really hope you're not watching this right now. I love you…_

And then he knew no more.

* * *

Crabbe and Goyle were in a predicament. They had just regained consciousness and the last thing they remembered was fighting the man in black (well, that's what Crabbe remembered, but he had filled Goyle in on what had happened, so it was basically the same thing).

"We should wait for Ginny, she'll come for us," said Crabbe decisively, sitting down, "Just like she always does." Goyle, seeing no reason to disagree, sat down as well, and the two began to wait.

They kept silent, knowing that Ginny hated it when they spoke to each other, and they didn't want to make her any angrier than they knew she would already be. However, they were used to this sort of thing, and it's not like they had the capacity for prolonged conversation anyway.

They waited patiently for several hours, but Ginny never came. They found this rather disconcerting, but kept waiting regardless.

Finally, Crabbe said, "We should go back to the other side. Ginny is probably waiting there. She is probably getting angry because we made her wait."

Seeing no reason to argue—his guess of Ginny having been captured by faeries was seeming more and more unlikely the more he thought about it (Ginny was much too smart to be captured by faeries)—Goyle agreed.

So, they set off on the path, and eventually encountered Ginny's body. They found this _very_ disconcerting, but decided to continue on, in hopes of meeting up with Neville.

After a couple hours, they reached a small village, where they hoped they would find a ferry to ride across on. Unsurprisingly, the village they had stumbled upon was too far inland to have need of a ferry. The townspeople were very nice about it, however, and provided them with a copy of easy-to-understand directions to the nearest town with a ferry.

After getting horribly lost and asking for directions at least five more times, Crabbe and Goyle arrived at the town, just in time to catch the last ferry of the night. (For, by that time, it was rather late.)

Once on the other side, they set off for the Thieves' Forest, which was surprisingly close.

Unfortunately, or rather, unsurprisingly, Crabbe's head and a tree branch met rather violently due to his inability to comprehend anything he wasn't looking directly at, and he forgot what it was exactly they'd been doing. He knew it had something to do with Ginny being dead, and Neville being missing, and some weird ninja guy, but that was about it.

Goyle, by no means the brain of this operation, was just as—if not more—confused, leaving them with something of a predicament.

Happily, a passing soldier, noticing their abnormal size and extreme lack of brain power, offered a solution.

"Why don't you two join the Brute Squad?" he offered, "They're always looking for people like you and would gladly accept you, I'm sure."

Crabbe thought this to be a sound idea (not that he knew what the phrase actually meant, he'd just heard Ginny say it several times and had decided to try it for himself) and resolved to enlist himself and Goyle in the Brute Squad the next morning.

Decided, they camped out for the night, and the next morning, headed out to sign up for the Brute Squad, which was apparently a group of super strong men with little-to-no brainpower employed by the military to go around beating people up on the orders of their "handlers", or bosses.

Finally, a job Crabbe and Goyle understood perfectly.

Their first day was boring—mostly tests and other placement stuff—so when they heard that their second day was to be spent clearing out the Thieves' Forest, they were rather excited (well, as excited as two gorillas with the mental capacities of boiled turnips can be).

Of course, just as they were getting settled in, something just had to come along and disrupt their plans. But they didn't know about that yet.

* * *

**So there you go. Sorry it's so short, this was really an intermission of sorts, so it couldn't be too terribly long. Hopefully, the next chapter will be out in a timelier manner, and I won't get hit with writer's block.**

**Anywho, review please, I will extremely grateful! **

**Ciao,**

**Waffles**


	9. The Situation

**So, here it is, the part where the plot starts to take its turns and twists. It took me awhile to write this because I wasn't exactly sure how I'd work it, but I like the way it turned out. **

**Anyway, here we go!**

* * *

When he awoke, Harry found himself flat on his back on a stone table, staring at a stone ceiling. He tried to sit up, but found he had iron cuffs around his wrists and ankles, holding him in place. Craning his neck, he saw that he was in a large chamber with rock walls and floor, filled with various torture devices and a bevy of other unpleasant-looking machines.

Harry began to get a very bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

On top of Draco's apparent rejection of him, not to mention, choosing that jerk Tom over him, he was now locked in a _torture chamber_ of all things, and would surely not leave until he was quite thoroughly dead. The despair threatened to overwhelm him, but he would not let it, insisting he had to keep going and get free for Draco's sake. If he even wanted him back.

NO! He wouldn't think like that! Only positive thoughts! Negativity was not allowed!

His emotions reigned back in for the moment, Harry relaxed back onto the table to try and formulate a plan that didn't sound totally ridiculous and impossible.

It didn't go so well, as most of them required Harry to have free movement in either his legs or his arms, and he quite obviously didn't have either. It was enough to make him almost grateful when he heard a door swing open and light footsteps make their way across the room to him, despite that this probably meant that the torture would begin soon. Almost.

Harry listened apprehensively as the footsteps drew closer and closer, restraining himself from craning his neck to get a look at the person. Finally, the footsteps stopped and someone bent over him, revealing the owner of the footsteps.

It was a small woman with pale blonde, almost white, hair, lily-white skin, and could've been mistaken for an albino if not for her distant pale blue eyes. She was dressed in rags and clearly hadn't had a bath in a quite some time, but she offered Harry a faraway smile, giving him the impression she wasn't exactly playing with her whole deck.

"Hello," she said in a breathy-sing-song voice, her eyes focused on a point just next to Harry's head, "I'm glad that you're awake. Welcome to Azkaban. You probably won't survive long--nobody else has--but I hope we can be friends while you're here."

Harry resisted the urge to stare at her incredulously. "Thank you, I hope so too," he finally replied politely, "But, pray tell, what is 'Azkaban'?"

"It's the home of the dementors," the woman replied in the same not-all-there way, "It is the dementors job to, for lack of a better word, _dement_ people, or drive them batty. A dementor can be anything that dements someone though (1)."

_I wonder what hers was? Or maybe she was always like this? Oh, I hope not,_ thought Harry, studying the woman with something akin to morbid fascination.

Out loud, he said, "Ah, I see. Thank you for the explanation. So, are _you_ a dementor?"

The woman chuckled, a surprisingly bitter edge to it, "No, I am merely the slave of one and shall undoubtedly remain so for the rest of my life." A flicker of sadness passed over her face, but was instantly replaced by another vague smile, "But it's okay, it won't be long now!"

She gave a tinkling, bell-like laugh and Harry found himself worried for her sanity and if she had ever had any to begin with.

"So, what's your name?" asked Harry, deciding that a change of subject was in order.

The woman's expression, if it was even possible, became even dreamier, "Oh, I don't know. You can just call me Loony, everyone else does."

_I wonder why?_ "Well my name is Harry," he replied out loud.

Silently, listening to Loony's nonsensical chatter, Harry made a promise to himself. _As soon as I'm able, I'm getting out of here and rescuing Draco from the prick. If the idiot still refuses me, I'll simply find some way to convince him. Remember, the best plans are the simple ones, even if the love of your life is acting like an idiot._

* * *

King Albus was dead, having finally kicked the bucket in his sleep. Queen Minerva was heart-broken, while Tom was having troubles containing his glee.

Draco and Tom were married first thing that morning, right after the funeral, much to Minerva's delight and Grindelwald's irritation.

Draco was less than pleased, but Harry was safe and that was all that mattered.

After the wedding, he appeared before the people and that was nice; they were excited to see how beautiful he was. He smiled and waved but he was still sad about never seeing Harry again.

Since he and Tom had agreed to wait and consummate the marriage that night, Draco decided to walk around the castle for awhile, gathering his thoughts.

Wandering around, lost in his thoughts, he ended up in a part of the castle he'd never been in before, with no idea how to get back to a part he was familiar with. Frustrated with his predicament, Draco wandered about some more, hoping to run into someone who could give him some directions.

Finally, just as he was about to go into a full-on hissy fit, Draco caught the faint sound of someone murmuring. Elated, he followed the sound to its source, hoping t find someone who could give him directions.

He eventually came to a dimly-lit room, made hazy by all the burning incense. He hesitated before the slightly-open door, unsure if he actually wanted to enter so suspicious a room.

Suddenly, a faint, raspy voice called, "Come in, my dear. We both know what you're here for."

Confused, Draco pushed open the door and stepped inside, looking around. The room was decorated in mostly in soft pinks and purples, with a random mix of darker and brighter colors thrown in, probably meant to create a mystic air, but only made your eyes burn if you focused on one spot too long. The room had a smoky look to it, but that was just from all the incense, which made Draco sneeze violently a couple times and his eyes to water. When he had finally adjusted to the smoggy room, he looked around and noticed a rather…_odd_ figure draped over one of the many chaise lounges within the room.

Draco took a moment to study the person, not entirely convinced that what he was seeing was actually a human-being. The…thing was extremely skinny with pale, wrinkled skin that was stretched across tight across its frame. Thin, scraggly brown hair stuck out erratically from behind huge, saucer-sized glasses at least half an inch thick. Its thin frame was nearly swallowed in veils and filmy clothes that presented a very creepy picture. Its eyes reminded Draco of a bug's; huge with and bulging with a hazy grey color.

"Come in, my dear," she purred, her obviously female voice giving her away, though the dreamy quality to it gave the impression she was on some sort of drug. Probably the incense.

Draco moved hesitantly forward, stopping a few feet away from the reclining figure.

"Have you come to be my customer?" purred the lady, casting Draco what appeared to be a suggestive look, but was horribly ruined by her glasses.

Draco's first thought was that the lady was some sort of prostitute and he had to resist jumping backwards screaming, "NO!!!"

The lady saw the denial in his face, however, and sat up with what could've been a pout, but really looked more like a grimace, "Really, my dear. It's very interesting to have your fortune read. Come now, sit down."

Draco blinked, relieved beyond words and a little surprised. _Oh,_ he thought, _Well then, I guess it couldn't hurt. Not like I don't already know the rest of my life is gonna pretty much suck, but maybe she'll tell me about Harry._

Out loud, he said, "Well, if you insist. My name is Draco Ma-er, Dumbledore, by the way."

The lady smiled (though it really was more a twisting of her face in a semi-horrifying parody of a smile), displaying uneven teeth, My name is Sibyll Trelawney, the castle fortuneteller. Pleased to make your acquaintance. Now, if you would please sit."

She gestured to a nearby chair and Draco sat, suddenly feeling unreasonable edgy.

"Now, child, give me your hand," Trelawney commanded, holding out her own. Draco, rather miffed a t being called "child", reluctantly did as she asked, the edgy feeling intensifying as he felt the lady's bony hand curl around his own with surprising strength.

Abruptly, she wrenched his hand closer, adjusting her glasses and staring intently at his palm.

After a moment, she turned white and gasped, "Oh my! I thought you were a better person than that, Mr. Dumbledore!"

Draco gave Trelawney an odd look, "What are you talking about?"

Trelawney flung his hand away from her and fixed him with a look one usually reserved from slimy things that slither out from under rocks. "You know what I'm talking about!" she spat, "How dare you give up love! He would've died for you--and very well may--but you just tossed him away!"

_Is she talking about Harry? _Draco thought, shocked. Out loud, he replied, "You don't know what you're talking about! Harry would've died!"

"That as may be, but you still had no right to marry another!" Trelawney hissed furiously, "Worthless trash! Get out!"

"Bu-" Draco tried to protest, cowed by the fury in this strange woman.

"I said out!" Trelawney screamed, shooting to her feet and thrusting a shaking hand at the door, "Now!"

Draco met the woman's furious gaze, but instantly regretted it. There, he found the fury of many people--countless people.

He cowered in his seat and felt something break inside him.

"Harry!" he cried weakly, "Harry…!"

* * *

Draco jack-knifed to a sitting position in his bed, Harry's name on his lips and his silk sheets in a sweaty tangle about his legs. His thoughts were confused and jumbled, trying to come to terms with the fact that the meeting had only been a dream. He wasn't married to Tom, Albus hadn't died, and maybe there was still a chance of reconciling with Harry.

Suddenly, the fog in Draco's brain cleared; he had to see Harry. It was still a day or so until the wedding, he just had to take action.

Quickly, he swung out of bed and pulled a robe over his emerald silk pajama bottoms--he hadn't slept with a shirt on since he'd begun sleeping with Harry, who liked to run his hands over Draco's chest.

Ignoring the cold stone, Draco set off for Tom's study, where Tom appeared to be working. The door was ajar so Draco, suddenly nervous, knocked gently on the frame.

Tom looked up, his face creasing into a smile when he saw who it was. "Why, Draco, what a lovely surprise. Is something the matter?" Tom's brows furrowed with worry as he took in his fiancé's state of undress.

"Actually, Tom," began Draco, stepping hesitantly into the room, "I have something I want to talk to you about."

Tom's expression deepened to a frown, an unfamiliar shaft of unease shooting through him. He got the distinct feeling that his carefully laid plans were about to be thwarted yet again.

"Well, Tom, I have realized that I can't marry you," continued Draco, "I love Harry and, regardless of the agreement you have with my parents, I wish to marry him."

Tom's face settled into an impassive mask as his mind raced with possibilities. After only a moment, he came up with the perfect solution. Smiling sadly, he said, "But, Draco love, you must know that I love you and only want your happiness. Of course I'll cancel the wedding. I'll even write four letters and send them with my four fastest ships to find him."

"Thank you, Tom," replied Draco quietly, "You're not the man I thought you were." Quietly, he turned and left, headed back to his room so he could change and begin to anxiously await Harry's reply.

Tom watched him go with a self-satisfied smirk.

A few minutes after he left, Count Snape arrived in the study. "You called, My Lord?" he asked dispassionately, bowing slightly.

"Yes," Tom replied curtly, "I trust that you are taking care of our guest properly?"

Snape nodded, "Yes, I was just on my way to do so."

"Good," Tom replied with a sharp nod of his head, "I want there to be no interruptions on my wedding night when I strangle my lovely groom and blame it on Rodsewan agents."

He gave a sharp smile that was little more than a baring of teeth and Snape gave a small, malicious little smile in return. "As you wish, My Lord," he said simply, bowing slightly once again and exiting the room.

Briskly, Count Snape made his way out of the castle and made his way to the nearby Thieves' Forest (on the opposite side of the castle from the Royal Forest) and walked unerringly for a specific small clearing.

Upon reaching it, he headed directly for a tree that appeared particularly gnarled and deformed. Pausing before it, Snape reached out and pressed one of the knots, watching impassively as the door swung silently inwards to reveal a badly-lit set of stairs.

Delicately, Snape stepped through the doorway, stopping slightly, and proceeded down the stairs. It was not a long staircase, but once the door had closed it was hard to see, so Snape was cautious despite having been down the steps hundreds of times before.

The staircase ended in Azkaban, where Harry had been waiting impatiently after having been strapped to some odd device by Loony. He was still strapped to a stone table, but it was a different one than before, right next to some huge machine. He was now shirtless with odd, suction cup-like things over his nipples and navel as well as one huge one covering the top of his head. The one covering his head, however, had a strap attached to it that went under his chin and held his mouth closed. All four odd things had wires connecting them to the machine. It would've been quite a comical sight, actually, if the circumstances weren't so serious.

Harry, spotting Snape, glared fiercely at him, but Snape was not impressed. "So, the impudent moron is finally awake," he drawled, "Enjoy your little nap?"

"Yes, it was quite refreshing," retorted Harry, his voice icy with sarcasm, "The cement slab is truly the epitome of luxury."

"Hm." Snape glided over, checking to make sure was fastened correctly and in the right place. That down, he looked icily down at Harry, "You are going top be testing an experimental machine that sucks out years of your life. I am unsure as to the effects upon humans, so after each use you are to describe your physical nad emotional reactions. Understood?"

Warily, Harry nodded, liking the idea of using this machine less and less with each passing moment.

Snape gave a curt nod, "Good." He gestured sharply and Loony appeared at his side, seemingly from nowhere. "Give him the stick and await my signal," Snape ordered, striding to a nearby desk where a pen and paper lay waiting for him.

"Yes, Master."

Loony procured a short stick covered in bite marks, holding it out for Harry to take in his mouth. Apprehensively, Harry obeyed without a fuss, not wanting to get Loony in trouble. She then went around the head of the table to stand next to a lever on a dial, which was connected to the machine. The dial went from zero to fifty and the marker, which was attached to the lever, was currently pointed firmly at zero.

Readying the pen and paper, Snape nodded at Loony.

With an apologetic smile in Harry's general direction (Harry wasn't actually sure it was at him because she appeared to be looking just to the right of his head, at the table; of course, he could've been imagining things, but he had decided earlier to leave that to her) Loony jerked up on the lever, moving the marker up to the "1". This released some water into the machine, which caused the machine to spin, which triggered the suctioning mechanism.

Harry felt as if there was something writhing and twisting within him; a coil of burning pain ripping through his innards. In his mind, there was nothing but the tearing, destroying pain centered around his nipples, navel, and head, and he was only vaguely aware of arching off the table, straining against the cuffs holding him in place. And then it was over and tremors wracked his body as he collapsed, aching and weary to the bone, back onto the table.

Snape, finishing up the notes he'd been taking on Harry's immediate reaction to the treatment, looked curiously at Harry, studying him minutely, but with clinical detachment. "Now, tell me honestly, how do feel?" he asked tonelessly. (Coming from anyone else, that question could've almost been a joke, but this was Snape, the man that killed jokes simply by being within five feet of them.)

Harry, aching physical from the residual pain of the torture, and still psychologically frail from Draco's apparent rejection, began to cry helplessly, tears pouring silently down his face. It wasn't self-pity, but simply despair as the true enormity of his rather terrible position came crashing down on him.

"Interesting," mused Snape, bending back to his paper.

* * *

Meanwhile, back at the castle, Tom summoned the Head of the Castle Guard, one Peter Pettigrew, to him to begin working on the next stage of his plan.

"Y-you called for me, My Lord?" Pettigrew was one of the few members of the castle was the Dark Lord, and was overly deferential as a result.

Not that Tom was complaining; on the contrary, he took great joy at having something grovel so pitifully before him. However, the inability to speak properly grew irritating very quickly.

"Pettigrew, I have received word that agents of Rodsew are planning to attack the castle on the day of my wedding--tomorrow," said Tom, icy eyes boring into Pettigrew's shivering form.

"I h-haven't heard a-anything, My Lord," Pettigrew offered tentatively.

"Of course not!" Tom snapped furiously, eyes flashing, "You're incompetent!"

Pettigrew cowered, shaking violently in fear of Tom's outburst, "S-sorry, My Lord. I'll p-post the entire Brute Squad in f-front of the gate t-tomorrow. I w-will also c-clear the Thieves' Forest."

"Good," Tom's voice low enough that he was almost hissing, "See that you do! Now, away with you!"

With a quick, fearful bow, Pettigrew darted from the room, off to do his master's bidding.

Tom watched him go with satisfaction, confident the stage would be properly set when he made his next move.

* * *

**So, there you go. Not a lot happened, but the next one should be out relatively quickly. (Maybe.)**

**Well, as always, review please!**

**Ciao,**

**Waffles**


	10. The Second Death

**So, here's the next chappie. This is where I really start to switch POVs and the timeline starts to jump back and forth a bit. If you have questions, please feel free to ask. **

**And we're off!**

* * *

Things were not looking so good for Peter Pettigrew. He had been given a mission to complete and so far, it had not been completed.

At first, after leaving Tom's study, Peter had run off to gather his forty best soldiers to help clear the Thieves' Forest. Unfortunately, these men were, for all intents and purposes, completely pointless. He would've gotten as much done even if they hadn't been there. So, thinking all he needed was more man power, Peter called in forty more men. Still, his men were being beaten back and/or ignored. Desperate, Peter did the one thing he'd most wanted to avoid; he called in the Brute Squad.

The Brute Squad was the section of the castle guard that was made up of some of the strongest--and dumbest--men Peter had ever met and every time he saw one of them towering over him, he couldn't help but squeak in terror. A most undignified response that was completely beneath the head castle guard, to be sure.

The two new recruits, apparently just in that morning, were no exceptions to the generalization, perhaps even bringing it to new levels with their gargantuan frames and astonishingly lack of anything even vaguely resembling a thought process.

Forcing down his instinctual fear of anything that large, he appointed the two as his personal helpers, after pairing each of the other Brute Squad members with a regular soldier. Feeling significantly more confident, they set off into the Forest.

At first, everything was going great. The Brute Squad really reinforced the soldiers, helping them with the intimidation factor and aiding with their sheer brute strength. Unfortunately, despite all this, Peter still encountered some trouble.

Making his way through an alley, the gorillas in tow, Peter stumbled over something, almost falling. Looking down in irritation, he saw that what he had tripped over was a nearly catatonic man lying limply on the ground.

"You, up!" barked Peter, nudging the figure with his toe, "Hey, you! Get up and get going! The Thieves' Forest is to be cleared!" The man just layed on the ground, limp and unresponsive. "Didn't you hear me?!" demanded Peter, his nudging now more of an insistent jabbing, "Get up, I say!" Still no response.

His irritation level spiking sharply, Peter gave a fierce kick to the man's side, hoping to get at least a little reaction, but alas, nothing. Glowering at the body before him, Peter decided to just let his new minions take care of it and have them take it to the waiting police car.

"Crabbe! Goyle!" the two lumbered over, expressions as clueless as ever, "Take this man and stick him in a holding vehicle. He appears to be unconscious or something." They nodded, stepping forward, and Peter left them to it, reluctant to be close to them for very long.

Crabbe and Goyle bent to pick the man up and didn't actually realize who the man was until they'd lifted him, and even then it was a close call. (Though considering their lack of a thought process, even that was something of a feat.)

"Longbottom?" Goyle actually managed to sound surprised--a surprise in and of itself, given how his mental capacity didn't usually allow for such emotion (after all, one actually has to have some expectation in order to be surprised, and he'd never been one to think that far ahead).

Crabbe, looking closer at the man, realized that it was, indeed, their fellow henchperson. Unfortunately, he wasn't looking so great. Crabbe, after deciding that this development was probably beneficial in some way, picked Neville up and, with Goyle's help, stashed him nearby for them to retrieve later.

After clearing the rest of the Forest and delivering the prisoners to the castle, Crabbe and Goyle stealthily (well, as steathily as two lumbering morons can manage) made their way back to the Forest to get Neville. He was exactly where they'd left him, so they took him to a nearby empty house.

There, they spent a good amount of time attempting to revive Neville using various methods, most involving some form of physica abuse and shouting, "Hey! Longbottom!" Finally, after a particularly long ducking in freezing water, Neville came back to himself.

Spluttering, Neville began to cough as Crabbe pulled him out of the water and the Dunder-Headed Duo watched impassively as Neville got his breath back. Blinking blearily, Neville looked up from his hunched-over position on the floor and was delighted to see who his companions were.

"Crabbe! Goyle!" he cried, grinning widely, "You came!" A frown creased his face, "But where is Ginny? Has she not arrived yet?"

A vague frown passed over Crabbe and Goyle's faces, but was quickly gone, though it lingered longer on Crabbe's than on Goyle's.

"Dead," Crabbe replied slowly, sorting through newly-remembered events. Neville's talk had helped him overcome his temporary amnesia.

Neville frowned, "How do you know that?"

Crabbe frowned in concentration, "We saw her body…maybe. I don't really remember." Goyle nodded sagely, his memories were relatively vague as well, but he seemed to remember something to that effect.

This puzzled Neville even further, but upon brief contemplation, he decided to just trust them. Neville shrugged, smiling sadly, "Probably for the best anyway. So did the man in black defeat you two?"

The two nodded, "Yes. So after finding Ginny dead we came here."

Neville nodded, "So I see. So what've you been up to the past day or so?"

"Joined the Brute Squad," Crabbe replied, "The man who gives us our orders every morning has really greasy hair and is an asshole."

Neville froze, "Did he have a rather…_impressive_ nose?"

"It is huge and ugly," replied Goyle shortly.

Neville's expression grew excited, his eyes darkening with elation, but a few moments later, it was replaced with grim determination. With a curt nod to himself, Neville lithely hopped to his feet, "Well then, you must take me to him. What's his name?"

"Count Snape," Crabbe replied, "He is probably with the Prince, who is in the castle, which is being guarded because of the wedding."

"Wedding?" Neville queried, surprised.

Crabbe nodded, "Draco Malfoy and the Prince."

"So he's back," mused Neville, "Then Ginny really is dead. But how to get in the castle? How many guards?"

Crabbe thought hard, "Twenty at each entrance."

"Hmm," Neville began to pace, "Well, I can take five, and you each can take five, but that's only fifteen. And I doubt that any of us can take more than five! Argh! WE need Ginny! I am not a planner, I'm a man of action!"

Crabbe and Goyle just watched impassively, not even noticing Neville's personality change due to the fire that seemed to burn within him, making him glow.

Suddenly, Neville had an idea. "The man in black!" he exclaimed, "That's it! He bested me in sword skill, he beat you guys at strength and he obviously defeated Ginny, who's the best planner I know! _He_ could get us into the castle! We need to find him! Do you know where he might be?"

Crabbe and Goyle scrunched up their faces in intense thought. "He's with Voldemort," said Crabbe finally, recalling with difficulty a conversation he'd heard that morning about the man in black and his fate.

"What?" exclaimed Neville, bewildered, "Why would he be with a guy like that?"

"He's one of the crew," Crabbe recalled.

Now Neville was irritated like he'd never been before, his fervor burning in his eyes, "One of the crew?! No! He's no doubt the best fencer in the world! And surprisingly strong and cunning besides! No, he's definitely Voldemort himself." Neville began to pace once again, "Which means he's still in the city."

Now Crabbe and Goyle were confused (admittedly, it wasn't that difficult to achieve), "Huh?"

"Well he foiled the Prince's plans to have his fiancé killed so he could go to war with Rodsew. This had to have some effect on the Prince, so he probably wanted to keep him close, to punish him, or whatever. Which means he's probably somewhere in the city, or at least close by! Come on, we've gotta search for him!"

So the three set off, an enthusiastic Neville leading the way, and spent the rest of the day scouring the city for the illusive Voldemort. Of course, they didn't find him, and finally decided to call off their search just past dusk, resolved to continue it the next day.

* * *

At dusk, Draco went to talk to Tom. The door was closed so he knocked, loudly, interrupting the yelling he could hear inside.

A few moments later, the door was wrenched open by a furious Tom, whose anger seemed to melt away as he took in who had interrupted him.

"Draco, darling, please come in," purred Tom with a beatific smile, standing aside so Draco could pas by him, "Just wait a moment to let me finish things up."

Draco entered the study to find Peter Pettigrew cowering before Tom's desk, staring fearfully at the man as he closed the door and strode over, reclaiming his chair. Tom fixed his suddenly icy gaze on the man before him as Draco took up a position just behind him, "Look, Pettigrew, it is my husband-to-be. Aren't I a lucky man?"

Hesitantly, Peter nodded.

"Then, is it wrong for me to be so concerned with his safety and well-being?"

Even more hesitantly, Peter shook his head. He had originally come to Tom to report back on the success of the clearing of the Thieves' Forest, but then the matter of how much security would be at the wedding had come up, and from there it had quickly degenerated into Tom screaming at Peter in fury. Peter was exceedingly grateful for the interruption.

"These Rodsewans are absolutely everywhere," continued Tom, "So this calls for some higher security measures. All gates but the front have been sealed, yes?"

Peter nodded, straightening a bit, "Yes. Twenty men guard it."

"Good. Add eighty more."

"Yes, My Lord. The entire Brute Squad shall be there."

"Good. Now, tomorrow the wedding is to be at sunset, and no one is allowed in until then. Afterwards, Draco and I shall be escorted by the Royal Guard to a ship waiting in the harbor, and from there we shall set out on our honeymoon, accompanied by the entire Linai Armada-"

"Every ship but four," Draco corrected smoothly.

Tom paused, blinking in surprise, then recovered himself, sending Draco a charming smile, "Oh yes, silly me, every ship but four."

But the jig was up; Draco had seen through his ploy. He had been suspicious when he realized that Tom had not canceled any of the wedding plans, and that little Freudian slip of his had only confirmed them.

Peter bowed shakily. "Yes, My Lord." He turned and left.

When Draco was sure Peter was out of earshot, he fixed an icy glare on Tom. "You never sent the ships, did you?" he asked calmly, his tone belied by the anger sparking in his eyes, "And don't bother lying, I won't believe you."

Tom was a bit startled, but hid it well, "Now, darling, I've only got your best interests in mind, you know that."

"Somehow, I doubt that."

Draco's sarcasm was _not_ appreciated, but Tom tamped down on his irritation. "It's just nerves, darling. We _are_ getting married tomorrow."

"Actually, I'm very calm." And indeed, Draco did _appear_ that way. "But you must know, it doesn't matter if you sent the ships or not; Harry will come for me. No matter what you do, Harry will come."

Rage sparkled dangerously in Tom's eyes, but his tone was still deceptively light, "Draco, I know it's the nerves talking. So long as you go to your rooms right now, I won't take anything you're saying seriously."

"Fine, I will go, but I don't care if you forget everything I said or not, because I meant every word." Draco turned and headed for the door, pausing before it, "Besides, you are but a coward and why would I desire the good opinion of one such as you?"

And then Draco was in the hall, and the door swung shut behind him, separating him from an enraged Tom who was shaking in fury. A moment's pause and then an inarticulate scream erupted from his throat, seeming to propel him forward.

His handsome face twisted in fury, Tom wrenched open the door and sprang into the hall, looking around for the object of his rage. Draco was nowhere to be found so, anger rising, he settled for the next-best thing.

Adrenaline pumping, Tom sped from the castle out to the Thieves' Forest, directly to the torture chamber Harry and Snape were occupying.

Ignoring Snape's exclamation of surprise, Tom headed straight for the machine Harry was still hooked up to. Shoving Loony roughly out of the way, he grabbed the handle of the dial.

"He _loves_ you!" Tom hissed at a stunned and bemused Harry, "He loves you and for that, you shall both suffer. He's _mine_! _Not_ yours! And if I have to kill you and forcefully take him to prove it, then so be it!" With that, he handle as far as it would go, all the way to fifty.

"Not to fifty!" cried the Count. But it was too late; the machine had been activated and the death scream begun.

* * *

The scream was so long and so loud it echoed throughout the city, chilling the hearts of all who heard it. Most didn't know what it was and most didn't want to know.

However, there were two people outside the torture chamber who did recognize the sound for what it was.

The first was horrified and appalled by the sound and what it could mean for their future, but the second was elated. Finally, a clue! He set off in the direction he was sure the scream had come from, gorillas in tow.

* * *

Harry was dead on the slab next to the machine.

Tom held the handle in place long after the scream had wavered and faded, then returned it to zero and with one last disdainful glance at the lifeless body, left the chamber.

"He actually called me a coward," he murmured wonderingly as he hastily ascended the stairs. And he was gone.

Count Snape briefly took some notes then threw down his pen, disgusted. Well, there went another plan, all shot to Hell by an overzealous asshole.

Shaking his head, Snape violently pushed back from his desk and stalked to the stairs. "Dispose of the body!" he barked, ascending.

"Yes, Sir," murmured Loony, sadly staring at the limp body on the table. Carefully, she reached out and closed his sightless eyes, before closing his slack jaw.

"Such a waste," she murmured regretfully, "Now who will rescue the lovely Draco?"

Little did she know, Fate wasn't quite done playing with its favorite toy yet.

* * *

**So there you go. I know it's a bit of a cliffy, and I'm sorry. There aren't that many chapters left though so I think it's allowed. Anyway, review and tell me what you think!**

**Ciao,**

**Waffles**


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